


Target Practice

by Accident



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Porn, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Sherlock Holmes, John is an Assassin, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, PTSD John, Past Rape/Non-con, RP, Smut, no happy ending, role play, sherlock is a detective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2020-05-19 03:28:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 82,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19348579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Accident/pseuds/Accident
Summary: John Watson's career as an Army Doctor plummeted when allegations of his sexual misconduct and scandal flooded his unit. After being shot as retribution he turned to a life of murder and assassination for hire. It's when a plump lipped curly haired man tracked him down to a snowy deserted road in France does John's way of life shift for better or worse....





	1. Crash & Caught

**Author's Note:**

> Hi (o^^o) This fic is a Role Play I wrote with @gvbutterworth on tumblr. I played Sherlock and @gvbutterworth played John.   
> Here is a link to @gvbutterworth 's tumblr: https://gvbutterworth.tumblr.com/ 
> 
> Here are my links and other social medias:  
> I rp a lot so if you want to rp with me send me a comment or a message on one of my platforms!
> 
> My rp tumblr https://fuck-off-watson-rp.tumblr.com/  
> My regular tumblr https://was-fuck-off-watson.tumblr.com/  
> My Instagram @ fucoffwatson  
> My twitter @fuckoffwatson1  
> Message me for my discord

John was sitting in a little cafe in France when the news broke. Like a great many European cities, France relegated Eastern European news to a position of small importance, but he was pleased to see that the press had fallen for his master craftsmanship and attributed his assassinations to Chechnian rebels. He gave himself a subtle toast with his little espresso cup and turned his eyes to the beauty of Aussois.  
Despite the confirmation of his success and the inevitable increase in his asking price, not all was well in JWs world. His informants had reported that after each of the three murderous frame-ups, no more than two days later, a man with dark brown curls and a long black coat visited the crime scenes and seemed to be retracing John's steps with alarming accuracy. The man was surely not affiliated with any government or activist group, so who or what he was remained a mystery.  
Not that John was concerned. No. He had had ex KGB and American Marines after him and he had dealt with them without breaking a sweat. On the contrary, John was curious. At least, he thought he was curious; it had been so long since John had felt anything whatsoever, he couldn't be certain. But whatever it was compelled him to fly to a little French mountain retreat with which he was familiar, take a life or two, and then attempt to get a glimpse of this shadow with his own two eyes.

Sherlock was leaving a crime scene in France, driving away down a dark snowy road. The murders that the Chechnian rebels had taken credit for still not sitting with him right so he decided to take a look for himself. He looks out his rear view mirror and frowns, watching a car catch up to him go far to fast on a slick icy road like the one they were traveling on.

John's land rover was not unlike a tank. He knew these mountains well and he had trained in the Urals for fucks sake. He knew mountains, he knew winter, and he knew this terrain with specialist insight.  
The main road was a straight shot through the valley, and in a small matter of miles, took the traveler outside of the reach of civilization. Winter was upon them and John knew that within a day or so, the fierce, high altitude snow storms would be upon them and this road would be closed due to the threat of avalanche.  
He watched the road signs pass as he followed his prey deeper and deeper into the wilderness. As he watched the small sedan in front of him, he felt the familiar thing that was like curiosity swell in him again. He was eager. He was so tremendously eager to see the face of the man who had gotten closer to him than anyone had before -- even if that face was a death mask.  
Unable to wait until the optimal turn in the road, his impatience made him sloppy, he surged his land rover forward neatly, perfectly clipping the passenger side bumper and sending his pursuer's car spiraling across the road to where it flew headfirst into down into a dark, rocky ravine.

When Sherlock came to all he could think about was the splitting headache he had and how his leg was killing him. The last thing he remembered was driving in the woods as it snowed. He looks around the car, the airbags had been deployed and the windows were broken. He wipes the blood out of his eye so he can see. His arms were alright, bruised and scarped but functional. His left leg however was definitely broken. “Fuck!” He screams as he tries to move it.  
He was trapped in the middle of nowhere. No one to come help him and no one to rescue him. He breathes hard, trying not to panic but shock was definitely taking hold.  
Snow started to powder in from the broken window and he shivered, maybe from the cold but probably from the pain and shock. He had to think. Had to figure a way to help himself. But how could he do that if he didn’t even remember how he crashed?

John took a deep breath to calm the rising giddiness in him. He took his kit from the passenger seat of the land rover, prepared to deal with whatever he found.  
The trek down to the crash site was treacherous and twice John nearly lost his footing. After a quarter of an hour, he was in the ravine, and wedging his crowbar into the driver's side door of the little sedan. The metal peeled away like a sardine tin and John found himself staring into a pair of very ethereal, very blue, very alive eyes.  
They were also very much upside-down. The car had crumpled and done damage to its owner. John couldn't determine the source of all of the blood that was splattered across the man's face, but easily diagnosed was the broken leg in which the bone had breached the skin. That the man wasn't screaming was a testament to his shock.  
John just stared for several seconds. He should have waited. "Sorry about this," John said with a sigh as he pulled his sig Saur from his kit. "I got a little over eager. I don't often attract followers and I wanted to get a look at you. I'm not usually this sloppy. I'm John. What's your name?"

“You know if you wanted a chat you could have just called.” Sherlock looks at the gun before looking at the man.

John grinned. "Cheeky," he praised, raising his gun to center between the man's eyes. He was looking forward to getting out of the increasing cold and bundling himself into his cabin bolthole for a few months. He had already packed the place with more firewood than he would need and more mystery novels than he could get through.  
But not quite yet. He lowered his gun. "Who do you work for? Who sent you after me?"

“Funny enough no one. I’m a consulting detective. You were interesting and I wanted to catch you.” Sherlock hums looking the man over and deducing him.

"There's no such thing as a--" John cut himself off when he realized how ridiculous a point it was to argue and he took a moment to wrap his scarf more securely around his throat. The temperature seemed to be dropping by the second and the man in the upside down car was worsening with equal swiftness.  
John raised his gun again, reminding himself that the sooner he pulled the trigger, the sooner he'd be in front of a roaring fire.  
And yet he lowered it again. "How the hell did you put it all together? That's impossible."

Sherlock blinks heavily, trying to stay conscious. He felt his head dripping blood and if he looked down at his leg again he would vomit for sure.  
“Well Doctor..” He smirks the best he can. “It was clear professional manner that tipped me off. I mean really who knows how to shoot execution style and hit the Lambdoidal Suture each time? Someone trained. Not only by the military but also someone with in depth medical knowledge. Obviously a doctor. One that’s seen trauma and doesn’t flinch. The way you carry yourself and the ease you handle that gun says military. So army doctor. You saw my femur sticking out of my thigh and didn’t even bat an eye.” Sherlock rattles off his deductions, the headache making his hard to think.

The man's delirium was understandable. And while John didn't get the answer he was looking for, he couldn't help but feel his sense of wonder reassert itself at the man's slurred burbling.  
He found himself looking at the path he had taken into the ravine. As he lifted his head, thick snowflakes gathered in his lashes.  
"Mmmm," he said, which he often did when he was about to do something reckless and strange even to himself. He returned the sig to the kit and replaced it with a wicked looking Bowie knife.  
"Don't struggle," he advised before he started sawing away at the seatbelt that bound the stranger in his inverted position. When the belt finally tore and the stranger landed on his already broken head, John thought he might've used a bit more care. His doctoring days were long passed.

“Fuck!” Sherlock lands with a sharp cry. “If you could be a little more delicate that would be much appreciated.” He grumbles. His entire body ached. He was in so much pain blacking out seemed like the better option.  
“Why not just kill me? I’m the only one that knows it’s you. Just leave me here to die and all your problems go away too.” He babbles, not really sure why he’s trying to convince a murderer to leave him for dead but then again not much made sense to his concussed brain at the moment.

The stranger was right, of course. John was under no illusion as to the heaping of trouble he was buying himself with this course of action.  
But John was good with trouble. It was boredom and this unshifting numbness that was intolerable.  
Ignoring the man's screams and protests, John forcibly lugged him out of the car. "Hold this," he said, stuffing the crowbar into the man's trembling hands. "Don't drop it," he commanded before effortlessly hoisting what turned out to be a rather hefty helping of man onto his good shoulder.  
"Hell if you aren't all limbs," he huffed, plodding steadily up the steep path back to his car.

“Well excuse me if I didn’t expect to be run off the road, nearly murdered, and now kidnapped I expect.” Sherlock breathes hard, his vision going spotty.  
“I think I’m going to black out.” His head droops as he tries to keep himself awake. He tries not to think about how hot it is that this little man is carrying him up a mountain side. 

John didn't even bother to hum in response to the man's chattering. Apparently his new companion was the type to run at the mouth when cornered. It wasn't a habit John hoped to encourage.  
What did impress him was the fact that, despite going in and out of consciousness, his captive managed to maintain a grip on the crowbar.  
By the time he reached the land Rover, John was horribly out of breath. It made for a rather unceremonious dumping of his burden into the backseat. He could feel himself sweating through his thermals, which could spell disaster if he didn't get to shelter soon. The snow was thickening.  
"Right," John sighed, eyeing the other man's exposed femur. The fireman's carry certainly hadn't helped it's condition, but John knew he could treat it. For the grotesquery of the damage, the wound wasn't bleeding profusely, and there was a good pulse below the break. "I don't have time to set this now -- the weather's turning. You're going to have to hold on. Cabin's not far. In the meantime..."  
He had a fernie pad he used to wrapping bodies with him and he used it now to fold around the wound, wrapping it securely. He watched the young man swoon from the pain and took advantage of his addled state to survey his other wounds. Shit, the man was in bad shape. John would have to drive fast.

Sherlock tried his best to focus on where he is and what’s happening but the constant blacking out doesn’t help. His head is still bleeding pretty good but he knows head wounds bleed a lot and it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s bad. His leg however is in very bad shape. At least he was in the hands of a doctor. A murdering doctor but a doctor nonetheless.

John drove fast, but well. Every time he felt the compulsion to hurry, he reminded himself that he didn't actually have any investment in the well being of the man in his backseat, and that his greater concern was his own safety in navigating what was turning out to be a truly brutal snowstorm.  
All the same, the soft sounds of incoherent burbling that came from the backseat were comforting. John spent most of his time alone. In fact, when he finally saw the turnoff to his cabin, he realized that half of his attention had been focused on the wet, steady rattle of the stranger's breathing.  
'Get a hold of yourself, Watson,' he reminded himself. 'He'll just be a nice distraction, then I'll be rid of him.'  
By the time John had parked the car, opened the cabin and deposited his ward in the fold out sofa bed, the stranger was nearly incoherent.  
"Well," John snorted at the man who still, it seemed, was determined to talk, "at least you'll be easier to work on like this."  
It was one splint, twenty-two stitches, and two hours later that his patient finally seemed to return to his senses. John was in the final stages of his work, a wet flannel in hand to scrub out the blood that had matted the thick silky curls of his hair. John was going a bit slower than he usually would, admiring the way the curls clung to his finger tips.

“It will be quite the tale if you fall for me.” Sherlock mumbles, exhausted but no self preservation as usual.

John blinked a little bit, trying to figure that one out. In the end, he couldn't, and just chalked it up to the concussion. "Now's the part where I'd ask you if you know who and where you are, but since I can't confirm who you are and you've been kidnapped, we'll have to use something else. What's the last thing you remember?"

“Umm..” Sherlock tried to think. “I was driving away from a crime scene. It started to snow, hard. You hit me. I spun out and crashed down into the ditch. Getting back up from there and getting here is blurry. So is you patching up my leg but I take it as I wasn’t totally conscious.”

"Well," John said, pulling the tattered old armchair from next to the roaring fire to where the stranger was stretched out on the sofa bed, "seems like you'll live, then." He dropped into his seat and began cleaning the stranger's blood out from under his fingernails with the flannel. "We are going to have a very long time together. Why don't you start telling me who you are and everything you know?" He left 'so I can determine whether or not to let you live' unsaid.

“I’m a consulting detective. I have a website. There’s ash.” Sherlock hums. “Your John. John what?”

John didn't hesitate. He reached out and dug his thumb into the wound on the man's thigh that he'd just sutured. The pain had to be incredible. "You're in a very bad situation," he said, his voice as gentle as any ministering angel. Even his face spoke of a helpful, if stoic ally, as he threatened with his hands. "I may seem very nice, but my temper is quite short and I'm losing it. Don't get cute with me. Play along, or I'll remember that you would best serve me dead. Have I made your situation clear? Now tell me your name."  
Only then did he release his captives thigh.

Sherlock kept his mouth closed but he still screamed from the pain. “Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes. It’s on the website.” He gasps, tears in his eyes as John let him go.

John smiled and stroked his hand comfortingly up and down Sherlock's shin as the pain tremors passed, but there was no real warmth in either gesture.  
"I would love to," John said, leaning back in his chair and returning his attention to his fingernails. "I would love to look at your webpage. But if you observe your surroundings, you'll note that neither of us will be surfing the web any time soon."  
He paused to let the man get his bearings. It was a well kept little one-bedroom cabin. There was a large fireplace as well as a wood burning stove in the kitchen. It was stocked and prepped for a lengthy stay.  
As Sherlock peered around, John took the opportunity to really scrutinize him. He still needed a fair bit of scrubbing, but John saw every bit of the elegant, blue blood, public school boy in him. 'His throat,' he thought to himself, 'It's all there is his pale swan's throat.'

“So how does an ex army surgeon like you get into the assassin business?” Sherlock hums, laying back against his bed.

"Are you asking me how a person trained to murder people in her majesty's service might transition to murdering people outside of her majesty's service?" John deadpanned.  
He turned his head to look out the window: all white. The little cabin itself was groaning from the beating the winds were giving it.  
"You were alone?" John asked. "My sources said you were always on your own. Anyone going to brave this storm to come to your rescue?"

“You obviously weren’t always like this. You cared at some point. About something. That got sniffed out and now you’re a cold calculating murderer.” Sherlock hums and looks at John.  
“So who died? A war time fuck buddy?” He asks and smirks as he sees the corner of John’s mouth twitch. “Ah I see. You couldn’t save him could you? So you decided that taking lives was a much easier endeavor than saving. It pays better as well.” He looks around the cabin, knowing it must have cost a nice sum.  
“I’m always alone. I work alone. I’m married to my work. No one knew I was even coming here to this country. Through I take it you already knew we were from the same place. You miss London down you.” He nods to the small Union Jack pillow hiding behind John’s back.

John was staring a bit bug-eyed at the man on his sofa. Then he laughed. He wasn't clear why. Nothing that had been said was terribly funny, but that the boy had the cheek to say it was. Furthermore, he wasn't wrong, not entirely. A part of him wanted to tell this man the truth and really shock the hell out of him.  
"Posh, public school, know it all git," John accused, but there was a reluctant fondness and respect in his voice. "Course I miss London. As soon as the to-do over the assassinations dies down, I'll be going back. Tell me," John said, chucking the flannel aside and leaning into Sherlock's space, "what were you planning to do if you caught me first? Are you a killer, too? Or would you have brought me to justice? Were you going to take on Russia with no one to back you like an avenging .... An avenging consulting detective?"

“Honestly I just wanted to find you. Look you in the eye. See the man who could take a life without flinching.” Sherlock looks him in the eye, shockingly unafraid.

John rested his chin on his fist. He gazed solemnly into the eyes he initially considered blue, but now realized had sea green and emerald tones as well. "You could have seen that in London. It's not rare, Sherlock Holmes. It certainly isn't special."

“No but your murderers called to me like a siren song. Who am I to ignore your call?” Sherlock hums, smiling softly.

John laughed again. When was the last time he had laughed so much? Twice? Unheard of. "If your eyes weren't so bloody clear, I'd say it was the concussion talking." He rose and went into the kitchen area of the one great room and started building a fire in the stove.  
"You're going to need to keep off that leg for at least a month. Lucky for you it was a pretty clean snap. Wasn't expecting the weather to turn so suddenly, obviously... But. Looks like we'll be snowed in for at least that."

“Well at least now I know you’re planning on keeping me alive for now.” Sherlock relaxes, his leg throbbing.

John threw the match he was using to light the fire with particular harshness. He sighed out a long, deep bear-groan as he pulled his copper stew pot from where it hung on the rack. "For now," he echoed. He glanced at the man... Boy?... from the corner of his eye. "You're caked in blood."

“Mm I wonder who’s fault that is.” Sherlock snarks as he closes his eyes.

John watched the young man as he fell into a doze on the sofa bed. He knew that once the adrenaline was out of his system, the broken leg would be nearly intolerably painful. It would be a long road back to health and John had no idea what the hell he was doing, taking it on.  
He was going to have to touch the man. It had been such a long time since he'd touched someone without the intent to kill them. And now that Sherlock had emerged from his delirium, it would be even harder. His mind replayed the incidents of the medical tent so long ago, when he had last touched men, had realized he liked it.  
'That's not why you brought him here,' he insisted to himself, but when pressed as to why he had, no answer was forthcoming. He pressed his finger against the burning stove top until the emotions went quiet again.

“Self harm isn’t productive. It’s boring.” Sherlock mumbles, eyes closed when he smelled John’s flesh burning.

"Advice from a drug addict?" John snarked back. "I saw the track marks." He pulled a can of soup from the cabinet and set about making it, his back to Sherlock. "Sleep while you can. You have a lot of healing to do."

“Mm you should take my advice then. I have personally experience.” Sherlock mumbles, falling asleep.

John went about his business while the young man slept. He knew he should take another flannel to the man and get the rest of the blood off him, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead, he ate his soup, took a shower and decked himself out in the warmest jumper he had. He stoked and refueled both of the fires and double checked his stores. The snowstorm showed no sign of slowing. He sat by the fire and stared into it for some time, trying to keep his mind present and not slipping back to the days he had hoped to scorch from his memory. When his will proved unequal to the task, he finally rose and made another bowl of soup. With that, he put a cup of tea next to Sherlock's sick bed. Then he poured warm water over a flannel and went about scrubbing the posh boy clean.

Sherlock slept hard, his body exhausted from the shock and trauma. He makes small soft noises as John cleans him, staying asleep. When he finally wakes the cabin is warm and cozy. “I better not have a limp for the rest of my life thanks to your shoddy splint job.” He mumbled as he wakes.

"It'd be better than what you deserve, running off after dangerous people for nothing more than a lark." John stroked the flannel over his upper lip, where the blood had congealed. "Pretty," he said, voicing what he'd been thinking for some time now. "You must have been popular at Eton."

“Got to do something to keep the boredom away.” Sherlock mumbles as John wiped at his lip. “Believe me the only action these lips have ever seen was being split open by sucker punches from morons.” He hums. “Voicing my deductions to the masses has never been very popular..”

"Voicing your what?" John asked, his curiosity piqued in all sorts of ways.

“Deductions.” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “It’s how I knew all those things about you. I deduced them. And no it’s not guessing. It’s a science. One that I created thank you very much. I see things. Like how I see your left handed or how you got shot in the shoulder or how you usually wear ugly jumpers.” He sighs.

"This isn't ugly," John frowned, looking at the light blue thing he was wearing. "And you know i'm left handed because i've been tending you for the past several hours." He paused. "How do you know about my shoulder?"

“Because you carried me over the other one and you’re extra careful of your bad one. Plus your hand tremors when you’re not thinking of it or when your adrenaline is low.” Sherlock nods to John’s tremoring hand.

John squeezed his fist to make it stop. "Yes," he said softly, "I can see why no one would like that." He bowed his head like a bull about to charge and snorted, "What else?"

“You want more?” Sherlock raises a brow, ignoring the sting it causes. “You really are a glutton for punishment, aren’t you?” He chuckles softly. “Let’s see..” He hums and looks at John. “You intend to meditate but that never happens. You eat the same thing every day. You’re estranged from you family because of their choices and your own. You’re fit because you work out for mental health and for your work. You’re a bibliophile but really it’s bordering on addiction.” He smirks a bit at that. “You doodle and draw as a hobby but you’re not half bad. Cuts your own hair, you have nightmares, warm lumpy jumpers help you feel warm and fend off your touch starvation. You’re scared of dogs, probably where that bit mark scar is on your hand is from.” He looks at John’s hands, getting distracted for a moment or two. “You’re deeply antisocial, hence the cabin in the woods in the middle of some god forsaken no man’s land. You take only one job a year because I haven’t seen any of your work anywhere else. But the most interesting thing is you’ve been single since you were discharged. Why?” Sherlock looks him in the eyes, lips slightly parted.

John's breathing had become quite heavy. His own skin felt too tight and he backed away from the figure on the bed. "How... How do you do that?" He certainly wasn't going to answer the man's question -- if his mystical powers didn't reveal that particular facet of his past, John had no inclination to inform him. He was too close to it already.

“You told me.” Sherlock sighs. “No in so many words but how you are. How you hold yourself. How you act. Where you brought me. You have hundreds of books and drawing supplies. Yet you have no family pictures. You obviously live alone as well because this is a one bedroom cabin and no one else’s things are here.”

John nodded slowly. "And this... These deductions... Are how you recognized a contract killer when everyone else saw a rebel strike."

“Yup.” Sherlock nods. “If you’d be so kind I’d really like some pain killers.”

"Remarkable," John whispered. "That's just... Marvelous." Then he shook himself out of it. "Ahhh... Painkillers. Right.” He pulled some aspirin from the end table. "I don't know how far along you are in your recovery, but if you haven't kicked your habit yet, you'll be starting now."

Sherlock finds himself blushing brightly at Johns praise and words. “I umm.. A few months clean. On and off.” He mumbles and takes the pills. “You really think that? That they’re.. Marvelous?” He asks softly, nearly a whisper.

For a moment, John had forgotten that he'd spoken those words out loud. He became uncomfortable at the recollection that he had, and his voice went very low. "Yes. You know they are. You know you're... Very talented." He put the pills in Sherlock's hand and offered him the tea that was now Luke warm. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you're special. You would have to be to have traced me as expertly as you did. It's no wonder I found you fascinating even before I met you."

Sherlock continues to blush as he swallows the pills. “Not many fascinate me like you have..”

John's discomfort became nearly unbearable. He put the flannel in Sherlock's hand and said, "you still have blood in your ear. You need to eat all that soup. You should try to sleep some more." Then he strode into the bedroom and shut the door, knowing Sherlock would deduce from that what he would.

Sherlock sighs and finishes cleaning himself up, trying not to hurt himself by moving. Once he was clean, or as clean as he could manage, he started to eat. He finished the soup quickly, not having eaten in days which in hindsight was a bad idea now. He lays back down and looks at the window, the snow completely covering it. He sighs and pulls up the blanket, trying to rest.


	2. Trapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock get snowed in...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi (o^^o) This fic is a Role Play I wrote with @gvbutterworth on tumblr. I played Sherlock and @gvbutterworth played John.   
> Here is a link to @gvbutterworth 's tumblr: https://gvbutterworth.tumblr.com/
> 
> Here are my links and other social medias:  
> I rp a lot so if you want to rp with me send me a comment or a message on one of my platforms!
> 
> My rp tumblr https://fuck-off-watson-rp.tumblr.com/  
> My regular tumblr https://was-fuck-off-watson.tumblr.com/  
> My Instagram @ fucoffwatson  
> My twitter @fuckoffwatson1  
> Message me for my discord

That night, John had nightmares far worse than he'd had in some time. And while they were war nightmares, they were the kind he would never speak of: him as a doctor. Trying to heal, but his patients wouldn't stop screaming that he was hurting them, he was killing them, they didn't want him touching them. The recollection of hard muscle in his palm, squeezing, maybe too hard, maybe wanting to sink his teeth into it.  
He woke up panting, his linens drenched in sweat. Never again, they had said. He wasn't allowed to practice medicine ever again.  
He clasped his shivering hands to his face and choked as his lungs quivered.  
Now he was going to do it again. He'd brought a young man into his home and that young man was making him feel things. He was going to do it again. Better just kill him rather than that. It would be better to just kill him.  
Instinct-quick, John was at the dresser where he kept his barrington, and then he and the gun we're at the foot of the fold out bed.  
Just shoot him now, John told himself. Shoot him right in his beautiful swan's neck.  
He held the gun aloft and just waited for himself to pull the trigger.

Sherlock blinks awake as he hears the floor creak. His heart slams in his chest as he sees the gun pointed at him. His eyes flick back and forth between the gun and John’s eyes. He tries to read John but the concussion making it hard to focus so he’s terrified since he can’t deduce what John will do next.

Sherlock's sudden movement startled John into a greater state of wakefulness. He could feel himself shaking all over and the images of soldiers still swam before him. But in the gloom, he made out dark slashes on a pale throat and some part of him knew that Sherlock had missed a spot.  
The wartime miasma shifted in his head and he lowered his gun, still breathing heavily. "Here," he panted and crawled onto the bed where he retrieved the now stone-cold flannel and cradled Sherlock's skull in his palm. He started stroking at the blood on Sherlock's throat, softly cooing to him, and John felt himself relax. This was all he had wanted after all. Just to take care of them. They were so beautiful and John just wanted to take care of them.

Sherlock stays still, letting John do what he needs.

John was thorough in a way he hadn't been before. His hands were insistent; expert but eager. Even as he cleaned the whorls of his ears, he kept a hand on Sherlocks throat, holding him closer than need be. He stroked over Sherlock's exposed clavicles, then pushed his hand down inside the front of his shirt while simultaneously pressing his nose into Sherlock's hair. "You smell like blood," he ground out softly.

Sherlock’s heart still pounds in his chest but for a different reason. “I’ll be able to shower eventually.” He mumbled softly.

John just wanted to touch. He knew he shouldn't, he knew soldiers talked, he knew he was pushing his luck. "You..." John took a deep breath, "You won't be able to... Shower alone for quite some time ..."  
He didn't remember wanting like this before he'd joined the army. He'd slept around compulsively before he'd joined, having as many women as would let him. But this was what he was chasing. This was what he was hoping to find. This high that only came from touching men.

“I never expected to be alone.” Sherlock blushes and licks his lips.

John nuzzled his curls as subtly as he could. "We'll... First thing tomorrow, we'll get you cleaned up. Think you can sleep?"

“Maybe..” Sherlock bites his lip. “Stay with me?” He whispers.

John stared down into the innocent eyes staring up at him. Jesus, when was the last time he saw innocence? And was this soldier... Flirting with him? "It wouldn't be good," he breathed, cradling the young man's jaw, "if they found us. In the morning."

Sherlock realizes John’s in the middle of a PTSD fog. He gently rests his hand on John’s upper arm. “I’ll make sure you’re up before first light. I promise. Just.. for the night?” He asks softly, sounding so pure and gentle.

John groaned, knowing he shouldn't. It would be the end of everything if they were found. "Yeah," he whispered. "Alright. Don't let me oversleep." He lowered himself carefully next to the young soldier, his eyes on his face the whole time. He didn't want to show how eager he was, how hungry he was to feel the weight of a young man in his arms.

Sherlock relaxes against him, being careful of his bruised body and broken leg. “You patched me up..” He whispers, resting his head on John’s chest. “Tell me about what happened today. I.. I don’t remember.” He whispers, wanting to see where John’s mind was.

John couldn't resist stroking a hand down the young man's cheek to his beautiful throat. "Your caravan hit an IED. You might have a concussion..." he stroked his hand up, taking all kinds of advantage of the trust he'd earned as a doctor. In the guise of feeling Sherlock's forehead, he carded his fingers through his hair and tenderly cradled his chin to get a look at his eyes.

Sherlock melts at John’s attention. “You saved me.” He whispers, eyes blinking heavily.

John's heart started pounding like a timpani drum. "N-no," he said softly, struggling to not look at the soldier’s beautiful mouth. Shit. The last time he'd tried do a kiss, he'd lost a tooth and been transferred units. "You need to sleep... You should.... I should let you rest."

“Talk to me. Please.” Sherlock begs softly, soft parted lips angled up towards him.

"That's... That's not...." John closed his eyes against the temptation. "What are you doing? You are going to get me in so much trouble..."

“I’m going to be sent home. You know that. I just want to listen to you as long as I can. Please..” Sherlock begs.

"I don't... I don't..." John shook his head, before he risked a glance at the young man in his arms. He was beautiful. He couldn't resist. John leaned forward and took his mouth in a gentle kiss.

Sherlock stills for a moment before kissing him back, going with it.

John kissed him for as long as he dared. Then he pulled back, feeling dazed and warm. "ok, that was.. sorry, that was too much. You sleep now. You have to sleep or I have to leave..."

“I’ll sleep. Stay. I’ll sleep.” Sherlock holds onto him gently.

"Ok. There's a good lad," John praised warmly. Unable to resist, he leaned in and kissed his curls, settling in to sleep, himself.

Sherlock sleeps hard, his body needing the rest so much. He presses close, staying close to John.

John awoke the next morning feeling like a bear emerging from hibernation. He had slept more soundly than he had in some time, but a disturbing memory remained: he was going to kill his ward. He remembered getting his gun, remembered aiming with intent to kill, and then black again.  
He jerked slightly and took in his surroundings. Finding himself on the bed and half underneath his patient was not what he expected. He checked Sherlock's pulse and determined he was not only alive, but healing. The gun that he'd used the night before was on the bed at his feet, proving his memories faithful. So, if he hadn't actually shot Sherlock, what the hell had happened?

Sherlock mumbled softly in his sleep, still presses close to John. He had thought of using the gun during the night but then he’d be trapped alone in this cabin with a decaying body with no way to contact anyone on the outside or even to tell them where he was. So he just decided to sleep since his body desperately needed it.

John carefully extracted himself from under his patient. there were no visible marks as far as he could see that would indicate any sort of violent contact. Swiftly, he packed up the gun, then went to check the state of the weather. The storm had stopped for now, but the entire west face of the house was buried in snow. The east face had snow up to you the top few inches of the window. The utter encapsulation had kept the house incubated, despite both fires having gone out.  
John made himself a cup of coffee and, as he drank it, hardened himself into the emotionless husk he felt safest being. Then he started the daily workout regime Sherlock had somehow known him to do.

Sherlock slowly wakes, his stomach growling. “Traitor.” He grumbles to his stomach.

John dropped from the rafter he'd been using to do pull-ups. "What did you just say?" he snapped, having heard full well what Sherlock had just said, and disproportionately angry about it.

Sherlock tenses. “I called my stomach a traitor for growling.”

It took John a second to come back to himself. His muscles were taut with battle readiness and his blood was up, but the calm detachment he'd trained into himself took over before his rage could have the run of him. "Right," he said. "Sorry. Yeah. I'll get you something to eat. Right."  
Whatever had happened last night was still haunting him and making him volatile, but he wasn't about to ask Sherlock what he'd done.  
"I'll make you eggs and bacon. That's what I have every morning. But I suppose you knew that."

Sherlock sighs in relief as John relaxes. “You’re a man of structure and schedule. Deviating from that would be harmful to you.” He says softly.

John wasn't certain he liked being dissected and inspected constantly by this man, but none of his deductions had yet to come with any judgments and that was almost comforting.  
As John went about making breakfast in the small galley kitchen, he asked, "How are you feeling? Sleep at all?"

“Alright. Sore and in pain. Slept hard.” Sherlock hums, trying to sit up a bit.

John left the bacon to fry and delivered more acetaminophen to the young man. The bruising on his face had settled, signifying that the young man was a quick healer. Odder still was that the young man seemed so untroubled by his circumstances. He was behaving as if he was regularly run off the road, incapacitated and at the mercy of murderous, unpredictable sociopaths in the dead of a treacherous snow storm. It made John prickly with apprehension.  
"Who's missing you in London?" he asked, watching the young man's pale throat as he gulped down the pills with a glass of water John had brought him.

Sherlock hums as he takes the pills. “Mm my land lady probably. She gets fussy when I’m gone for more than a few weeks. But she knows I disappear often so she won’t worry to much to soon.” He shrugs.

"No girlfriend? Boyfriend? Any friend?"

“No boyfriend. Girlfriends are really my area. No friends either. They don’t really like my deductions.” Sherlock frowns. “I mostly just get beat up.”

To John’s eye, Sherlock didn't look like someone who got hit a lot. But then again, John's understanding of someone who got hit a lot was no doubt vastly different compared to that of a civilian. Frankly, he found Sherlock's face to be rather lovely when he had viewed the surveillance photos. He found himself pursuing them quite often -- information gathering, of course, all perfectly professional.  
Even now, with the bruises splotching his otherwise porcelain skin, looking at him was a treat. And as soon as John realized how much he was enjoying it, he looked away.  
"That's a shame. You can't keep them to yourself?" he asked. "Your deductions?"

“Mostly. Some of my scientific findings go on my website. Like the ash.” Sherlock smiles, quite proud of his ash index.  
“One time a group of bullies cornered me. Beat me so badly they broke my jaw. I had to have it wired shut for months.” He sighs and rubs his jaw.

John batted his hand away and felt for himself. Sure enough, there was a small imperfection in the ridge of the man's jaw. "Healed well. Someone set it properly."  
All of this might explain Sherlock's cavalier attitude to the state he was in, now. "So, you don't mind that I kidnapped you because all you're missing out on back home is your landlady and regular thrashings. Is that it?"

“Yeah pretty much. At least this is exciting. I do miss my chemistry set though..” Sherlock hums, thinking how he should have thrown out some experiments before leaving but then again they’ll be good evidence he’s been gone for some time.

He watched the young man, uncertain if the man knew how close he had come to dying last night, how utterly helpless he was, how John had not yet determined whether to let him live. The you for man seemed utterly unaware that at any moment his life could be ended. Unless.... "Are you suicidal?"

“Seems like my deduction skills are rubbing off.” Sherlock chuckles.

John's mind went a little blank. A great many questions flooded his head, and short circuited him for a moment.  
"Bacon's burning," he muttered before going to the kitchen to retrieve it. He came back with two greasy plates and pushed one into Sherlock's hands, taking a seat next to him on the bed to tender to his own.  
"Why?" he determined to ask after having considered a great many alternative questions.

"Why what?” Sherlock hums, eating heartily since his body needed the nutrition to heal.

"Why are you suicidal?" John asked, licking bacon grease off his lips. "You're beautiful and brilliant and you clearly come from money. So, what is it?"

“Mm I come from a line of manic depressives. Not really my fault. Plus I.. I’m alone. Everyone on this plant is an idiot. That’s why I catch killers. Because for a moment. One fleeting moment there is mystery. And then it’s gone and I get high.” Sherlock looks down at his plate.

"Huh," John bit his lip, thinking. "So... If I do end up killing you..." He put a friendly hand on Sherlock's good leg, "no hard feelings?"

“Either you or someone else. Maybe me.” Sherlock shrugs and nods, relaxing under John’s hand.

John immediately took his hand away. "Right. So, no hard feelings." Not that he cared. He'd never gotten permission or forgiveness from anyone he killed before. For some reason, he wanted it from this kid. Or... "How old are you?"  
John felt old next to Sherlock. Despite Sherlock's great mind, there was something rather innocent or undeveloped about him.

“Twenty something? I stopped counting after twenty two.” Sherlock hums, finishing his food. “You?” He asks.

"Thirty two," John said, watching Sherlock's fingers. "Are you still hungry? I can feed you more. Otherwise, I should put you in the bath. You're starting to stink."

“I’m full. I don’t usually eat this much.” Sherlock hums. “My leg is busted with stitches. You can’t put me in a bath. A sponge bath will have to suffice.”

"Your leg can't get in the bath," John said putting their dishes to the side. "The rest of you would do well to." That said, he hoisted the young man in his arms, mindful of the splinted leg that jutted out dangerously. "Don't fuss. If you hit that, you're going to be in a world of hurt."  
Moving gingerly and marveling again at how light Sherlock was, John maneuvered him into the bathroom and painstakingly set him into the tub. Despite his cares, the young man looked pained upon landing in the big, brass basin.  
"Sorry," John muttered, clearly unused to apologizing. "Um," he cleared his throat. "Should probably... Get you out of those clothes.... Gonna have to cut your pants the rest of the way off."  
He hadn't thought this through. There was something interfering with his doctor's instincts.

“It’s okay.” Sherlock says through gritted teeth. “This shirt is worth more than your entire wardrobe. Even now when it’s caked in dried blood.” He rolls his eyes, wishing he hadn’t as the pain behind his eyes flares up.  
He frowns as he watches John struggle with what to do. He wonders if he could trigger John’s doctor instincts like the nightmare triggered his soldier instincts.  
Sherlock takes a deep breath and says his words very calmly. “Doctor, your care is needed.” He looks up at John, wondering if it worked.

John just stared back at him for a second before he snorted. "Oh, is it, nurse? I just... Let me get the shears..."  
The journey to find the implement gave John the time to compose himself. He was just cutting a man out of his trousers -- for medicine.  
When he returned, he was perfunctory. His hands were skillful and precise and only the keenest eye would note his discomfort. After Sherlock was bare, John pointedly kept his eyes averted from between Sherlock's thighs, despite the temptation.  
"Right," John said, turning on the tap. "Let me know when the temperature is what you like."

Sherlock sighs a bit when the trick doesn’t work, figuring John has to be under stress to be triggered. He hums, filing that away for later.  
He shifted and moved the best he could to help John.  
“Fuck.” He hisses when the water is freezing at first before it starts to warm.

"Alright?" John asked as it warmed up. He helped situate Sherlock's leg so it was propped up out of the water. Unclothed as he was, John saw further bruising along his abdomen. He gently poked around one. "So moving at all must hurt, huh?"

“Yeah it’s getting better.” Sherlock nods, relaxing.  
“Ow.” He finches as John pokes his bruise. “Yeah it’s not fun.”

"I'll help," John murmured, going to get a flannel. When he caught Sherlock's somewhat apprehensive gaze, he did his best to give a reassuring smile. It had just been so long since John had ever had to interact with other people. He had been almost entirely isolated for five years.  
When he set about his task, he was thorough and professional. He started with his feet and scrubbed them to a near polish. He was gentle around the wound and sure even to scrub him behind his knees. He skipped Sherlock's genitals without comment and started soaping the tender flesh of his belly. It was when he stroked up Sherlock's ribs and nearing his nipples that John's vision got a little foggy.

Sherlock gasps softly as John rubs over his nipples always having been very sensitive. He only wore the softest shirts or else he’d be distracted all day. He whimpers and bites his lip at the sensation.

John immediately left off of cleaning his chest. He was feeling his body starting to respond and he closed his eyes and swallowed hard. When he resumed his cleaning, he started with Sherlock's hands and worked up his arms.  
He had worked very hard to suppress his reactions to men. He had made his body go stone cold and had turned himself off to interpersonal pleasures. The shame of it all helped. He simply concentrated on standing before his Commander as he received a dressing down and he felt his arousal recede.

Sherlock blushes a bit, letting John wash him. He went into his mind palace, distancing himself from the situation.

With Sherlock's eyes closed, it made John's job easier. He finished with Sherlock's front, then pulled the man against his own front to get access to his back.  
Hell if this wasn't bringing back memories. There was a reason he shunned other people.  
When he settled Sherlock back in the tub and for a look at his face, he asked softly, "Where did you go?"

“Mm my mind palace..” Sherlock mumbled softly, eyes still closed.

"What's that?"

“It’s how I store my memories and thoughts.” 

John gave that some consideration as he gently began washing Sherlock's hair. "Is it a trauma response? To go into your head?"

“No. Not really. But I go there sometimes when I’m uncomfortable.” Sherlock says softly, melting into John’s hands as his hair is washed.

John went still and he felt his throat close up. Had Sherlock sensed his arousal? "I'm making you uncomfortable?"

“No you’re not. I just..” Sherlock bites his lip. “I’m not used to someone touching me intimately like this when I’m sober..”

John slicked his soapy hair back and began to rinse it out. "You only fuck high?"

Sherlock blushes and frowns. “It’s the only way I can get my brain to be quiet enough so I can let someone do those things to me..”

"Sounds like you just don't like sex," John stated plainly. "Why do it at all?"

“I like it.” Sherlock frowns, sticking his chin out. “It’s just.. It hurts.” He shrugs.

"Wh-- Uhhh..." John dropped his soapy work to rub his forehead. "What are we talking about here? Hurts who? Are you -- what kind of sex are you having?"

“Oh for god sakes, John. I’m gay. I have gay sex.” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “It hurts me. Sometimes. Being high it doesn’t hurt as much.”

A strange, little choked noise came out of John. Then he stared at an indistinguishable spot on the wall for several seconds. "Um," he said carefully, sinking his fingers back into Sherlock's hair, "That doesn't have to hurt. Whoever hurts you is a bastard."

Sherlock frowns, relaxing into John’s touch. “That’s not possible. It’s never not hurt..” He bites his lip.

"Yes," John hissed, more irritated on being refuted on medical point than anything. "The anus can be relaxed to the point where it can accept something penis-sized easily, which should feel nice, and you just use a lot of lube. None of it has to hurt. It shouldn't. Otherwise what's the point?"

Sherlock frowned and looked down. “I always hurt so I didn’t know it shouldn’t..” He mumbled, embarrassed. “They never said it wasn’t supposed to be that way.”

"Who is they? How many people were you fucking?" John asked, a very dark picture of Sherlock's past forming in his mind. Content with his work, he pulled the plug on the drain. Sherlock's skin was an entirely different color now he was clean.

“Just a few guys from Uni. My ex..” Sherlock bites his lip. “He’s the one that broke my jaw.. and other things..”

John sighed heavily. So, Sherlock was used to being busted to pieces by men who couldn't handle their own desires for him. 'Way to perpetuate a cycle, Watson,' he thought to himself. "What..." He had no right to ask, but he was going to anyway. "What other things?"

“A few ribs and a hairline fracture to my skull. Then they trashed my dorm room. Then I was kicked out of university for setting a bad example to other students for “getting into fights” even though I was the target of a hate crime.” Sherlock shrugged.

John got that far away look in his eyes again. Then he said, "No wonder you're suicidal. C'mere..." Getting Sherlock out of the tub was a lot harder than getting him in it. He helped the wet, naked man to sit on the edge of the tub, where he started very thoroughly rubbing him dry with a towel.

Sherlock blushes and holds onto John, behind careful of his bad shoulder. “Thank you..” He whispers.

John shook his head. "Don't thank me. What are you thanking me for? I'm the reason you're in this much pain. Your dickhead boyfriend broke your ribs and your jaw? Well, I broke your leg and your skull, and may kill you, yet. Don't thank me for anything." He left Sherlock balancing for a moment, feeling an agonizing burning on his chest as he pulled a fluffy bathrobe from the closet and started wrestling his beautiful, tragic patient into it.

Sherlock grits his teeth in pain. “You never lied about who or what you are. You never tried to trick me. You’re an assassin. A murderer. You never said you loved me when you were deep inside me in the morning and then breaking my jaw in front of your friends that same afternoon. You are who you are and you never tried to convince me different. I’d probably thank you if you killed me as well. Finally put me out of my misery of being trapped with these brainless amebas.” He grounds out, tears forming from either the pain or his emotions but he can’t figure out which.

John had the dressing gown on Sherlock and was using it to hold him very close. He was breathing hard, deeply triggered and aroused by Sherlock's passion. He was a bad man. John Watson knew he was a bad man who wanted nothing more than to take horrible advantage of the fragile creature in his arms. The thought made him as horny as it made him ill. "Don't trust me," he managed to growl out. "Don't ever trust me." Then he carefully lifted the young man in his arms and carried him not to the fold out bed in the main room, but to the queen sized bed in the only bedroom.

“I’m waiting for you to kill me. Trust never entered the equation.” Sherlock tries not to tremble from the pain. “When I went into my mind palace I was thinking of all the ways you could kill me. You could have slit my throat and let me bleed out into the bath. You could and shot me in my sleep. You could have strangled me a hundred times by now a hundred different ways. I don’t trust you. If anything you’re my angel of death.”

John arranged him as comfortably as he could on the bed, then gazed at him openly, stroking a thumb over his dark eyebrows. "Did you come after me to die? Is that what you wanted?"

“I go after all of them to die. You’re just the first that’s come this close.” Sherlock hums, not shyly away from his touch.

John noticed. Now that he knew about Sherlock, knew that the man was homosexual and that John wasn't simply projecting his repressed desires onto him, he noticed that Sherlock actually seemed to like it when he touched him.  
But of course, his soldiers had seemed to really like it when he touched them, too. Some of them at least. Walker came in for far more than the necessary amount of prostate exams, and Jones always seemed to find an excuse to take his shirt off. But they had stepped forward against him, both of them had.  
"What was it?" John asked. "Heroin? Cocaine?"

Sherlock watches John, eyes always studying him. “Cocaine. A sweet little seven percent solution of my own.” He sighs wistfully and licks his lips, missing the soft embrace of his chosen poison.

"When did you start?"

“When I started Uni. My ex got me into it.” Sherlock shrugs. “If you get to ask questions so do I.” He states.

John just made a low hum in his throat and dropped his hand from where he was stroking Sherlock's eyebrow to stroke over his full lower lip, just to see what would happen.

Sherlock made a soft sound, barely audible. His lips parts just so, his hot breath slowly pouring out.

God, he was such a wanton morsel. If John believed his enemies could achieve such cunning, he would have thought Sherlock was the perfect trap set for him. "How long has it been," he asked, voice low, "since you were properly fucked?"

Sherlock breathes slow and deep but his widening pupils give away his arousal. “According to you, never.” He whispers, lips rubbing against John’s finger and nearly making him moan.  
“It’s been a few months since anyone touched me. When I stopped using was the last time. I’m clean.”

John took his hand away from Sherlock's lips and, mindful of his damaged leg, reached between his spread thighs and pressed the pads of his fingers against the tight knot of his hole where he gently began to stroke.

Sherlock gasps and bites his lip. His good leg spreading a bit more as he subconsciously tried to give John more room to work.

John closed his eyes for a moment as a profound rush of arousal overtook him. It was as if the past seven years washed away and everything he had been suppressing, the memories and the emotions, floated to the surface.  
Sherlock felt so good and he was entirely at John's mercy as he pressed his thumb into the man's perineum and began to rub.  
"Sherlock," he asked, his voice deep and dark, "what happened last night?"

Sherlock whines softly at the pressing. He would be rocking his hips if his leg wasn’t busted. He can feel blood start to rush south, knowing that wasn’t a good idea but he was helpless in every sense of the word.  
“You.. You had a nightmare. You were going to shoot me. You.. You ended up kissing me instead.” He pants a bit.

John's hand stilled in it's ministrations. "I what?"

“You kissed me.” Sherlock said simply.

John was on his feet and out of the room before he knew it.

Sherlock whines as he watches John go.

John splashed his face in the kitchen sink and dried it on his shirt. His hand was shaking again. To stop it, he did what he knew to do -- he want back to completing his daily exercise routine.

Sherlock sighs and lays back against the bed. He tried his best not to fall asleep but the bath exhausted him again and he was out like a light.

John was in a maelstrom of confusion. It was clear to him now: he'd seen Sherlock's surveillance photo, wanted him, pulled his punch on the vehicular death, and brought him to this remote cabin with the express intent of fucking the hell out of him. The realization sent him into a spiral of shame and self loathing that he would usually work off with running. Trapped in a cabin as he was, however, he had to resort to pushups, pull ups, sit ups and the like.  
This calmed his mind enough for him to realize that Sherlock actually seemed to welcome his touch, to follow him with eager eyes, to make himself soft and appealing. But then he remembered how Walker had done the same thing and off he went into another frenzy of 200 reps.  
The cycle continued a solid three hours and concluded with John, sweaty and exhausted, sitting outside the bedroom door, torn about whether he should go in.

Sherlock woke sometime later, hearing John work out like a maniac. He sighed and looked around the bedroom. Finally when John stopped he listened again, wondering what he was doing.  
Unfortunately Sherlock has started to squirm from the pressure on his bladder. “If you’re quite done out there I need to be carried to the toilet.” He says, sounding a bit desperate.

The response was John dropping his head back against the wall with a thunk. At this point, he didn't think he could lift a pencil, his limbs were so weak. "Shit," he groaned, heaving himself to his feet.  
John stared at him from the doorway. He was beautiful and innocent indeed. " I smell like hell and am going to be slick, so I don't want to hear about it and hold on tight."

“Just bring me a bottle or something then.” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “You’re a Doctor. Smarter than that. Not some muscle bound idiot.”

John glared at him, feeling challenged. " I will tend your wounds, and feed you by hand, but I am not in this life or the next, doing bedpan duty ever again. So hold on tight."

Getting Sherlock height in his arms was the hard part, but once he was there, the trek to the bathroom was less harrowing than he had feared. He situated the young man on the toilet, panting and red in the face.  
"Right," he gasped. "You can get your own damn self back."  
He left, chortling to himself.

Sherlock groaned and planted from the effort. “No wonder they dishonorably discharged you. It had nothing to do with getting shot. They probably got rid you you before you were shot. You probably got that from your first job. Sloppy and unorganized. You let them get a round off into you.” He snaps, angry and exhausted.

The door slammed shut. Hard. It couldn't have been more apparent that Sherlock had hit on something a bit too close to the bone.

“Prick.” Sherlock mumbles and does his business the best he could. He slowly lowers himself onto the floor and slinked his way back to the bedroom, breathing hard from the pain and the exertion.

Several hours later, John entered the room with a conciliatory bowl of stew. He sat down on the bed and put it in Sherlock's hands.  
"Don't talk about my discharge," he said, voice low. "As good as you are, you don't know what happened."

“Why don’t you tell me then? It’s not like we have other things going on.” Sherlock rolled his eyes, still on the floor not being strong enough to get himself on the bed.

John swallowed. Then he said, "I molested a young man in the army and his brother shot me. You want up?"

“Yes I want to be up on the bed.” Sherlock nods, thinking.

Putting aside the bowl,John got hold of Sherlock under his arms and with far greater ease than he'd shown earlier, lifted him onto the bed. He carefully arranged him, then cleared his throat. "Did I manage to shock the man who knows all?"

“I don’t think you did it.” Sherlock states. “If you molested someone your deviance would be of a sexual nature. You’d be a serial rapist right now. Not an assassin.” Sherlock hums.

John frowned at him, finding his line of reasoning fanciful and bizzare. "I did it," he said calmly. "And I'm not proud of it. But I did it." It felt good to confess, despite the burning in his face and his limbs.

“Did it happen after you had a nightmare?” Sherlock raised a brow.

"No."

Sherlock hums and eats. “What did you do and why?”

John watched the young man, wondering if this was a topic he could delve into safely. He didn't know, but he spoke carefully anyway, "Well...." he began, "as a doctor, people trust you. And in the war, we were in the middle of nowhere and ... It was just men." John shrugged. "I didn't know... I didn't know how I felt about men before I was deployed. It snuck up on me. It really snuck up on me ... when I was tending to patients."

“You have repressed same sex attraction. Probably from your parents. Most likely your father. But your sibling is gay. You didn’t react violently like your father would have when I said I was gay. You looked sad. As if you’d heard it before and knew it wouldn’t be good for me.”

Sherlock's deductions revealed things John hadn't thought through for himself. He had forgotten about his father. He had died when John was twelve and he had grown accustomed to life without him. He'd forgotten the rages.  
"It's no excuse."

“Was your intent to molest him? Did you hear him say no and still proceed? Or did he get caught and you were ratted out?” Sherlock asks.

John pinched his nose between his brows. "No one.." his voice failed him. "No one ever said no, but I knew I was... Betraying their trust."

“Did he tell you he wanted it? Did he ask you? Did he tell you he wanted you?” Sherlock asks softly.

"J--stop. Alright? Stop asking me questions. It was wrong, you understand? It was wrong, the end, stop fucking nagging me about it."

“I’m not convinced then.” Sherlock nods and finishes his food.

"And that is why you will keep running into the arms of men who will hurt you.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes.

John saw it. He reached out and tugged on one of Sherlocks curls gently. "Brat."

“You like it.” Sherlock smirked.

A thought occurred to him as he looked at Sherlock's impish grin. "Sherlock," he said, all curiosity, "I touched you earlier. You didn't say yes or no."

Sherlock blushed a bit and bit his lip. “I wanted you to touch me..”

Now John was confused. Sherlock had seem no less eager than Walker but Walker had said later... "Why?" John asked. "Because I told you anal sex shouldn't hurt? You wanted to see for yourself?"

Sherlock shakes his head. “Because I liked how it felt when you touch me..” He blushes more, looking away.

"Because there's no one else around to touch you. And then when someone finds out, you'll regret it." It was what he imagined happened with Walker. Or what he'd made up to explain what had happened. Or to excuse himself from being the monster he feared he was.

“Because you’re the only person I can stand touching me without being high.” Sherlock snapped.

"Alright, at ease, hair-trigger," John gently chided Sherlock for his knee jerk defensiveness. "Calm down." He put his hand on Sherlock's shin. "It's happening again. The same thing. You're defenseless and wounded, I'm a doctor and you trust me. You'd let me do anything if it kept you on the path to healing."

“We already established that I don’t care if you let me live or not so that’s a moot point.” Sherlock mumbles, relaxing at Johns touch.

"It's one thing to want to die, Sherlock, it's another thing to actually do it. Believe me." He sighed heavily and stroked his thumb over Sherlock's shin. "How did you know that about my father? My sister?"

“Looked in the drawer.” Sherlock nods to the braided drawer. “Old picture. The only one in the cabin. A younger woman who looks like you so sister. The picture is ripped but an older man’s hand is still holding your sisters. Your father. You ripped him out but you kept her. You don’t talk to her. Estranged. That’s why she’s tucked away.” Sherlock hums.

"Brilliant," John muttered under his breath. "Your parents -- they don't mind you're gay?'

“No. My mother is bi and my father got the benefit of three ways.” Sherlock shrugged.

John snorted. "not a lot of supervision from them?"

“Not really.” Sherlock chuckled. “My mother is a mathematician. A professor. My father was an actor and now he teaches as well.”

"Explains a lot," John said, seeing it all before him.

“Oh?” Sherlock raises a brow. “Deducing me, Doctor?”

John smiled. " I wouldn't go that far. Just piecing together clues." He squeezed Sherlock's good foot. "You're exceptional."

Sherlock blushes at the praise. “You’re ridiculous.”

John smiled and sat quietly for several moments. "Weeks, Sherlock. We have weeks together... How shall we spend it? It can't be all deductions and... Dark revelations. Shall I read to you? Shall we learn Spanish?"

“I know Spanish. And French. And Italian.” Sherlock hums. “Read to me?” He asks softly.

John didn't want to let go of his foot. "I will read you whatever you want," he said slowly. 'What do you want to hear? I have a lot of mysteries. A few sea stories."

Sherlock blushes and bites his lip. “Anything with pirates?” He nearly whispers.

"Treasure Island?" John asked.

“Please.” Sherlock smiles.

With great reluctance, John released his foot. He put the kettle on and went about searching his bookshelves for his copy. He found his copy that was given to him by a dear childhood friend when he moved from northern England to London. He would always miss Larry.  
He poured two cups of tea and crept back into the bedroom. "It's warmer in here," he said. "And you need more room, with the splint. I can take the sofa bed."  
He handed Sherlock his tea before crawling into the unoccupied side of the bed. "Have you read this before?"

“You’ll freeze out there. Just stay here.” Sherlock hums and takes his tea. “My..” He bites his lip. “My brother used to..” He says softly.

"Your brother used to...? Read to you?'

Sherlock nods, relaxes back against the bed. 

John got them both comfortable before he started reading. He quickly found himself engaged in the story and far more relaxed than he'd been in days. Weeks. Hell, years. He sank back into the pillows and actually settled into a few character voices.

Sherlock smiled as he listened, resting back against the pillows and his eyes close.

John kept reading for hours. He only slowed when he noticed the noises of pain Sherlock was making next to him. After the third groan, John looked over at him. "Hurting?"

Sherlock whines and nods. He wanted to listen more but the pain was getting too much to ignore.

John used his bookmark and said conspiratorially, "I have oxycodone, but I don't know if I should give it to you with your history."

“Something non addictive perhaps.” Sherlock nods.

"More high dose acetaminophen then. Don't want you getting loopy." When John came back, he put the pills in Sherlock's hand and instinctively stroked his curls. "It's nearly nine. How are you? Getting tired?"  
It felt so good to be taking care of someone again. John's innate proclivity for caretaking was reasserting itself with a vengeance.

Sherlock takes the pills and tries to relax. He hums softly and actually relaxes as John strokes his hair. “Thank you..”

John shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked on his toes for a second. "So," he said, "I kissed you last night... Was it... I mean, was it nice? Awful...?"

Sherlock chuckles softly. “It was pretty nice.”

John wondered if he'd actually found someone lonelier than him. Or if he was being played. "Can I try it again? Awake this time?"

“I wouldn’t mind if you did.” Sherlock licked his lips.

John tipped his head like a dog that heard a high pitch. "You wouldn't.... Mind..." for someone who seemed to have a very precise understanding of explicit consent, that sure was a vague response.

“Oh for god sakes.” Sherlock groans and his head tips back in frustration, people usually just do things to him and he goes along for the ride. He’s not used to telling people what he wants. He takes a breath and nods back and John. “I demand that you kiss me. I fully consent to being kissed by you. I want you to kiss me. Is that clear enough?”

John laughed out loud. It was so goddamn Adorable. Only this man could make being a petulant little shit that adorable. John was so delighted, it took him a moment to school his mouth into a kiss-appropriate formation. "You," he chortled, "you are so..." But he gave up on words and instead, pressed his lips into the unbearably shapely bow of Sherlock's.

Sherlock made a little sound, trying to kiss back but obviously having no idea what he’s doing.

John didn't either, not really. He'd kissed loads of women, but never a man. And Sherlock's lips were so supple, he couldn't resist sucking on them slightly. It was a gentle, tender first kiss.

Sherlock turned to a puddle as John kisses him, just having that man close was intoxicating. He gasped as John sucked on his lip, making his lips part.

John groaned low in his throat, the spark of Sherlock's willingness igniting an inferno of want. He pulled away with a little gasp. "Ok," he gulped.

Sherlock whined a bit as John pulled away.

John studied him a moment, gently stroking over his cheekbones. "Well," he said softly, "that was my first queer kiss. I'm marking it up as a success. What do you say?"

“Very successful.” Sherlock nuzzles into his hand.

Sherlock was fascinating in a way John hadn't ever encountered before. That he was interested in John was implausible to the point of suspicious. "How many boyfriends have you had?"

Sherlock frowns a bit. “Just the one..”

John nodded. "But you fuck a lot of men," he assumed.

“I do not.” Sherlock frowns deeper, pulling away from John's hand.

This was not adding up. "Did you hunt me so you could fuck me?"

“No. First of all I don’t fuck anyone. They fuck me. Second of all I hunted you so I could catch you or you could kill me. Thirdly I certainly wasn’t expecting you to be this fascinating or attractive.” Sherlock blushes.

"You're a madman," John muttered. He didn't rule out a fast-acting Stockholm syndrome, either. He just didn't want to be in the situation of taking advantage again. The reminder of it made his stomach churn.

“People have said worse things.” Sherlock rolls his eyes.

"It's not a bad thing," John said, beginning to tuck Sherlock into bed. "You need anything? Water? I'm a light sleeper, so if you need something in the night, just call."

“Are you staying here?” Sherlock asks, laying back.

"No," John said, going to the dresser and pulling out his gun. "I haven't slept walked in over five years. I don't know what triggered it," he pulled the cartridge from the gun and emptied the chamber, "but I don't want to take any risks."

Sherlock frowns a bit and nods.

John smiled at him apologetically. "Cute when you pout." He rounded the bed again and stroked his fingers through Sherlock's hair before leaning in to kiss him again.

Sherlock kisses him back, melting into a puddle again.

"Christ," John purred against his lips, "If you're a honey trap, you're worth getting caught in."

Sherlock blushes and smiles against his lips.

John nodded as if confirming something internally. "Right. Goodnight, beautiful."

“Goodnight, John..” Sherlock says softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! More to come soon! Leave a comment and tell us what you think so far!


	3. Firsts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They reveal and learn more about each other...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi (o^^o) This fic is a Role Play I wrote with @gvbutterworth on tumblr. I played Sherlock and @gvbutterworth played John.   
> Here is a link to @gvbutterworth 's tumblr: https://gvbutterworth.tumblr.com/
> 
> Here are my links and other social medias:  
> I rp a lot so if you want to rp with me send me a comment or a message on one of my platforms!
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> My rp tumblr https://fuck-off-watson-rp.tumblr.com/  
> My regular tumblr https://was-fuck-off-watson.tumblr.com/  
> My Instagram @ fucoffwatson  
> My twitter @fuckoffwatson1  
> Message me for my discord

John woke the next morning with a sensation of lightness and hope that was so foreign he was almost uncomfortable. He started the fires and made breakfast and had to admit to himself as he knocked on his ward's door that the was a little giddy. He made sure to center himself however so he seemed cool.

“Ya know you don’t have to knock.” Sherlock hums.

John strode in and put the plate in Sherlock's lap. He gave him a handful of pain pills before he took Sherlock's head and kissed him all over his face. "How are you, how did you sleep, what do you need?"

Sherlock blushes and smiles, taking his meds. “Alright. Sore. Slept okay. Bit awkward. Just hungry for now.” He nods.

John leaned in and softly kissed his lips. "Forecast says we're snowed in for the next three weeks. I just want to promise you, I won't... I mean, I ... I don't know what you intend to do with the information you have about me once the snow stops. But I ... Want to see what happens between us before then. That is... I'm not going to hurt you... while we're here together." That last part didn't sound good, but John wanted to be honest.

Sherlock kisses him back softly. “Thank you for being honest with me..” He says softly. “What about after the snow stops? What happens then?”

"well, what do you think? With that brilliant mind of yours, you have a greater chance of guessing than I do."

Sherlock shrugs as he eats. “Well either you let me go, kill me, or we go back to London together.”

"You realize it's going to be down to you, don't you? It's going to depend on what you tell me and what I believe about your intentions for the information you have on me."

“I’ve already caught you. Locking you up is the police’s job. And they’ve already decided your crimes weren’t yours so as the saying goes, not my division.” Sherlock chuckled.

"So, you don't mind that I kill people?"

“People are hypocritical when it comes to murder. If someone kills someone else it’s bad. If someone kills someone else in a war it’s deemed alright. It’s not but the point is that people are hypocritical. Plus those people you killed were killers anyway so.” Sherlock shrugs.

"Not all of them," John said frankly. "You don't know who all I've..." He trailed off. He didn't want to ruin this before it had begun. It had been a while since he'd been around someone socially and nearly a decade since he'd been in an actual relationship. He had learned to be frank and unapologetic, but He wanted this. He wanted this despite the hopelessness and absurdity of the situation. He grasped Sherlock's hand. John wouldn't lie, he determined, but there was no need to bury himself so early. "You have rather unorthodox views."

“Normal is boring.” Sherlock smirks.

John licked his lips as he stroked a curl behind Sherlock's ear. "Is this a turn on for you? Being kidnapped?"

“Maybe. It just seems like most things you do turn me on.” Sherlock nuzzles into his hand.

"The car crash....?" he ventured.

“Mm alright I’ll admit that one not so much.”

John smiled, pleased the kid was at least that realistic. "But it was a pretty good trick, wouldn't you say? If I hadn't pulled my punch, no one would have known."

“Mm that’s true. Still holding back?” Sherlock smirked.

"Calling it off, as long as you let me kiss you." Hearing his own words, John winced. "Not that I'm gonna kill you if you don't let me kiss you, I just mean..." He huffed and lowered his eyes. "I just want to see what happens. I think you're extraordinary and I don't want to hurt you."

Sherlock smiles softly and cups John’s face, pulling him in for a kiss.

John sighed and kissed him back, mindful of the leg. He could have kissed Sherlock for hours, thrilled with the idea of Sherlock wanting to kiss him back. When it was no doubt getting obnoxious how much John was kissing Sherlock, he dropped to his neck and kissed him there. "I want to kiss you everywhere..."

“Do it..” Sherlock breathes.

John pulled back to look at Sherlock's eyes and seeing they were just as dilated as his, leaned in again to kiss down his throat, to his sternum, where he slowly untied the belt keeping John's bathrobe around Sherlock's chest as waist.

Sherlock moaned and tipped his head back against the pillows, eyes closed just wanting to feel John.

John unwrapped him entirely. He took a moment to just look. He had seen a lot of naked men before, but no naked men who knew John was enjoying it and having erotic thoughts.

Sherlock licks his lips. “Talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

John huffed, having so many thoughts, it would be hard to pick just one. "You're so beautiful," he said, foremost on his mind. He carefully traced the garish bruises, seeing they were still painful. He stroked what undamaged flesh he could and said darkly, "You're too hurt for me to make love to you." He leaned in and softly kissed one of Sherlock's pert nipples and muttered against it, "But I can still make you come..."

Sherlock whimpers and mewls, his nipples always being incredible sensitive.

John liked that. Sherlock was so sensual. "Tell me what you like," he purred reaching down to fold a hand around his cock as he went to kiss the other nipple.

Sherlock gasps softly, his cock starting to fill out in John’s hand. “I.. I like slow. And soft. I like to feel everything. I liked to be talked to. Every thought that passes through your brain I want to hear it. All of them.”

John lifted himself to suck Sherlock's ear lobe. "You know what I'm thinking?" John whispered, lips to his ear. "I'm thinking I want to be the first man to give it to you how you want it. I want to be the man to show you how good sex can be."

“Please.” Sherlock moaned and begged, throbbing into John’s hand.

"Wh-what?" John asked, genuinely confused. He was having a difficult time tracking Sherlock's sexual history. "You've never wanted, never been wanked with anything but a raw hand?"

Sherlock shakes his head. “No one has ever touched my penis.” He blushes. “I barely do. Getting myself off is to difficult. I can’t stop thinking and I can’t make myself ejaculate.” He mumbled, embarrassed.

John kissed the young man's temple, full of questions, but none of them appropriately sexy. He would have time to ask later. "It's ok if you can't stop thinking," John whispered. "You just have to think about the right things. Like what you think is sexy... What are your fantasies?"

Sherlock blushes. “I don’t know.. All I can think about is you.”

John smiled and nuzzled him, giving his cock an affectionate squeeze. "Does that turn you on? Thinking about what you'd like me to do to you?"

Sherlock blushes and smiles shyly. “Yes. It does. A lot.”

"So what do you want?" John asked, speeding up his wrist. "What would we be doing right now if you were well enough?"

“I’d want you inside me.” Sherlock whimpers, hips rocking a bit.

"You like that, don't you?" John growled. "Being full?" He took his hand off of Sherlocks cock only for a moment so he could very carefully arrange himself between Sherlock's legs. He lifted the knee and pressed it back against Sherlock's chest before oiling up his other hand and very smoothly slipping a finger into Sherlock's hole. "There you go, sweetie. That feel nice?"  
He was now grateful for his experiments in the army, dubious though they had been. It gave him the expertise to give Sherlock a good time, as he knew how to expertly locate his prostate and drag his finger over it.

“Yes!” Sherlock moans and arches. He never felt like this, this good and aroused.

John was hard as marble in his pants, but he was used to this -- Watching beautiful men get off under his ministrations and pretending he wasn't. But he didn't have to be the doctor here. He leaned forward and took Sherlock's panting lips in his and began stroking his cock again, all while gently milking his prostate.

Sherlock holds onto John and kisses him deeply. His cock leaks over John’s hand as John rubs his prostate. “I.. I want to see you. Touch you.” He blushes.

"you can see and touch me all you want," John smiled, carefully inserting a second finger into Sherlock's hole, giving him a bit of a stretch and putting more pressure on his button.

“Yes.” Sherlock groans, his mouth hanging open. “Can I take your cock out? Please?”

"Oh!" John half-laughed, surprised. Keeping his pants on was probably the only thing that had kept him from being court martialed. "Yeah," he grinned. "Go for it... " He carefully removed his hands from between Sherlock's legs and gave him access to his flies.

Sherlock whines softly as John takes his hands away. He reached out and opens John’s trousers, pushing them down with his pants. “Fuck.” He swallows as he looks at John’s cock.

A little self conscious, John pushed his pants off entirely. He used to be proud of his oversized cock, but since it had been getting him in trouble, he had kept it under wraps. Women used to swoon at the sight of it and Walker couldn't seem to leave it alone.

“Impressive. I mean I knew it was going to be impressive by the way you walked but still.. Impressive.” Sherlock babbles.

"You can't tell by the--" John chuckled and shook his head. "Well, it sure likes you, too."  
John took his hand and rubbed some of the excess oil into it before guiding it to his prick. He watched his face to make sure it was ok.

Sherlock blushes and wraps his hand around both of them, stroking them experimentally together.

John kissed his throat and rocked with him gently working his finger back inside, trying to find his prostate in the new position

Sherlock pulls his good leg up more and angels his hips as he strokes them. “Like feeling your cock against mine.”

"I can't wait to take you properly," John panted. "I want to be inside you, feel your button on my dick..."

“Want that. Want you.” Sherlock groans, pulling him in for a kiss.

John kissed him hard and gave him a second finger, thrusting harder as his orgasm neared. "You can have anything you want. Christ, you're the most beautiful thing I've ever... Want to watch you come first..." He was determined to hold out longer than his young lover.

Sherlock moans and arches, coming hard unable to hold back as John thrusts harder.

John couldn't resist biting down on Sherlock's neck, coming hard behind him, making a mess of his abdomen.

Sherlock gasps and groans, eyes closed as he feels John come against him.

John kept his face buried in Sherlock's neck as he caught his breath. When he pulled away, he gently stroked his lover's ribs and whispered, "Ok?"

Sherlock nods, still breathing heavily. “Don’t laugh but.. is it always supposed to feel that intoxicating?” He asks softly.

John didn't laugh, but he did have to hide a scandalised look. He couldn't imagine what the hell Sherlock must have been doing in bed if he didn't know that. "Yes," John said, with low insistence. "Yes. And anyone who doesn't make you feel that good, or better, deserves to be unceremoniously dumped in the cold." He sat quietly for a second, considering. "If I find this ex boyfriend of yours, I'm gonna kill him."

Sherlock blushes and bites his lip. “That’s probably not the only thing you’d kill him for..”

John lifted his eyebrows as his body went cold and professional. "Care to tell me?"

“Besides the beating and cheating on me and the questionable sexual practices there was.. The drugs.. He’s the one that got me addicted..”

John closed his eyes. "He beat you," he said, cataloging that one deeply. "Did he whore you?" he asked bluntly.

Sherlock groans and looks away. “He tried to. I left him before he could.”

John nodded and sighed. He'd seen the type. They weren't boyfriends, they were pimps. But if Sherlock remembered him as a bad boyfriend, it might be better for Sherlock's psyche. " What was his name?"

“Sebastian..” Sherlock mumbles.

"Sebastian what?" John asked, his voice quick and clipped.

“Wilkes.” Sherlock frowns.

John nodded, the name immediately filed away. He took a deep breath to shake himself out of it. "You've been sober two months you said?' he asked, getting up and going to the kitchen for some hot water and a towel. When he returned, he began gently cleaning them both.

“Two and a half now probably.” Sherlock nods, blushing as John cleans him. “You’re not going to hurt him.. Are you?” He whispers.

"Well," John said, stroking the pale inside of Sherlock's thigh, "I'm going to kill him."

“You can’t.” Sherlock sighs.

"Oh no?" John asked. "Why's that?"

“I just.. I don’t want you getting caught..” Sherlock frowns.

John smiled fondly, but a little falsely. "You've been the only person to come close to catching me. But I caught you instead. I think I'll be alright."

“Maybe I wanted to be caught. So there.” Sherlock chuckles.

John reached out and stroked over his full bottom lip. "What did you learn about me that made you want to get caught by me?"

Sherlock’s lips part a bit. “You were exciting and I kept learning new things about you. Always something more to discover.”

That was pretty vague, but John wasn't arrogant enough to press him. He figured Sherlock for an emo kid with a crush and a penchant for trouble. Self destructive and volatile, certainly. "I imagine you have a few secrets left to unearth yourself."

“Hopefully.” Sherlock smirked.

John chuckled. " I need to bring in more firewood, but then I can read to you some more. How does that sound?"

“Wonderful.” Sherlock grinned.

John was washing the dishes, in awe of the deep level of contentment he felt. He was thawing from the interminable cold that had pervaded him for the past several years. He could feel his heart again.  
The dishes done, he gathered the firewood to take into the bedroom where he intended to read the final chapters of treasure island to his new lover.

Sherlock is laying across the bed, boredom and dullness has started to set in. He felt trapped in this cabin and by his healing leg. He couldn’t move about freely. He could barely move at all without being in some amount of pain. Sherlock huffed and sighed, his arm thrown over his eyes.

John grinned at him as he stoked the fire. Sherlock had proven an inclination to dramatics. "Alright over there?" John asked, trying to hide his humor.

“I’m dying. I can feel my brain eating itself. My intellect is atrophying.” Sherlock groans.

"Maybe, but your body is healing,' John said, peeling back the dressing on Sherlock's leg to view the wound. It was unsightly, but coming together we'll.

“Ughhhhhh.” Sherlock groans.

John chuckled softly to himself. "What did you do that you miss exercise so much? A lot of running?" he asked, running his fingertips down a lean, prominent thigh muscles.

“Over the rooftops of London.” Sherlock nods.

John raised his eyebrows, impressed. "Nice," he praised. "I'm sorry I can't offer you the same kind of excitement here."

“I suppose a cuddle and being read to will suffice for now.” Sherlock sighs.

John stroked up and down Sherlock's good leg. "Well, you're easy to appease. Give me some warning if you think you might throw an actual stink, though, yeah?"

“Mm we’ll see.” Sherlock relaxes into John.

"How do you fight?" John asked, coming around to the place on the bed he considered his spot. Despite their growing intimacy, John had yet to spend the night with Sherlock. He hadn't sleepwalked since that first night, bit he didn't trust himself. "In relationships? Do you fight dirty?"

“No. I present all the facts if they did something. But usually it’s me having done something more than a bit not good.” Sherlock shrugs.

"What do you do that's not good? Are you a cheater?"

“No never. I deduced their friends and things. They didn’t like it. I called out liars and cheaters. Things like that. Also I have some eccentric hobbies.”

John rested his chin in his hand and blinked at him. "Ok, the deducing I get." He had, himself, been picked apart the last few days. "What are your eccentric hobbies?"

“Breaking into morgues, experiments around the flat, harping on my violin all hours of the day or night.”

John started laughing, delighted. "You are a gothic novel villain! You're Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde!"

Sherlock chuckles and smiles. “At least I haven’t reanimated anything.. Yet.” He grins.

"well, you've reanimated me," John said before he could censure himself from saying something so saccharine.

“Mm it was still beating. All I did was find it.” Sherlock smiles.

Leave it to Sherlock to make it even more poetic. John took his hands and kissed his knuckles, uncomfortable with the sudden intimacy. "Um. Treasure island?"

“Sure.” Sherlock nods, smiling softly.

John managed to get his arm around Sherlock where they were both comfortable. After every paragraph or so, John would softly kiss Sherlock's curls until he was spending more time kissing Sherlock's crown and forehead than he was reading.

Sherlock closed eyes, melting against John. Each time John kisses his head he stops thinking of how bored he is and starts thing about how good John’s lips feel on any part of him.

John eventually gave up and put the book down. Then he cradled Sherlock's jaw in his hand to gently tip his head up to kiss him soundly. What he had done to deserve this quirky, fascinating beauty, he had no idea. But he did know he could kiss those lush lips for hours and never grow bored.

Sherlock hums happily and wraps his arms around John’s neck, holding him close as they kiss.

John kissed his slowly, relishing the feeling of a man wholly relaxed and willing in his arms. His brain was rewiring itself, tucked away in what John was beginning to consider paradise. He was learning what it was to accept his desire for men, just as Sherlock was learning to trust in pleasure.

Sherlock makes soft sounds of enjoyment, his hands finding their way under John’s shirt and touching his skin.

It really revved John up when Sherlock touched him, always tentative, uncertain, but curious. "I dream about when you're well," he muttered against Sherlock's lips. "When I can be between your thighs without hurting you."

“Tell me about it.” Sherlock begs. “Tell me please.”

"I'm going to fuck you for hours," John sighed, taking a silky handful of Sherlock's hair and making him crane his head back so his pale throat was exposed. "No, days," he corrected, "and first you'll grip on to me tightly..." He trailed his hand up the inside of Sherlock's undamaged thigh. "High around my ribs... But after the third or fourth time you've come, you'll be a little weak... A little tired..." He gently bit into his lover's throat and squeezed his adductor. "So I'll pull you on top of me so you can rest while I take you again."

“Oh John.” Sherlock arches, his cock leaking heavily.

John kissed him savagely, unable to resist him. He took hold of his jaw and clenched the fist in his hair to better anchor him against his mouth. When he pulled away, he was panting, kissing every inch of flesh he could reach. "I want to try something, but you have to promise to hold still. Understand?"

“What is it?” Sherlock blushes.

"I want to suck your cock," John said, looking him dead in the eye.

Sherlock blushes even brighter. “Really?”

John smirked at him. "Yes. But I haven't done it before, so bear with me."

“No ones ever done it to me before.” Sherlock smiles shyly.

John kissed him over and over. "Before you leave here, you'll have done everything." He gently stroked the young man's penis and said, "No bucking. I don't want you to hurt yourself."

Sherlock moans, hard and throbbing in his hand. “I’ll stay still.”

"Good boy," John purred, kissing the young man's forehead. He'd had this done to him often enough, he had a good idea of how to do it. As he leaned over Sherlock's hip, he grasped the top of his bad thigh to help pin him, then easily slurped Sherlock's cock into his mouth. He would call Sherlock's cock loving words like dainty and delicate and it made it all the easier to suck.

Sherlock gasps softly as he’s pinned. “John.” He moans, holding John’s head in his hand gently.

John felt him swell in his mouth and could taste him as he leaked against his tongue. He kept his teeth tucked safely behind his lips and dragged his tongue along the seam of Sherlock's cock. He popped off a moment to ask, "Ok?"

“Good. So good.” Sherlock moans, head thrown back.

John smiled at him before he gently went about Maneuvering Sherlock to put him in a position where John could access his bottom. He tucked his good leg up and watched for any wince or hiss that suggested the bad leg had been jostled. John had to apologize a few times and gently stroked his lover's belly until he was settled again. Then he took the bedroom oil, coated his fingers and gently worked two into his body as he sucked his cock into his mouth again.

“Oh fuck..” Sherlock gasps and moan deeply, feeling intoxicated by lust and John working him over.

It was hard concentrating on two very important things at once, but John was a very skilled multi tasker. He knew very well how to milk his lover's nub in a way that would drive him wild, and cock sucking didn't take long to master.

“John, you’re gonna make me come. You’re gonna.. you’re gonna.. I’m.. im.. John!” Sherlock moans John’s name loudly as he comes.

John swallowed him with some difficulty, but rode him through it. For his own state, he was so hard he was seeing spots every other heartbeat. "Jesus," he panted, wiping his mouth on Sherlock's hip bone. "Jesus, beautiful."

“Fuck.. You’re.. Perfect.” Sherlock panted between words.

John crawled up him and kissed him possessively while he helplessly rutted against Sherlock's side.

Sherlock kisses him back deeply, holding onto him tight. “I want you in my mouth. Please.” He begs. 

"that's, um... That could be tricky," John panted against his neck, but stilling his hips.

“I’ll lay on my side with my leg propped up and you lay back. It’ll be fine.” Sherlock nods.

John surveyed him critically. "If you start to hurt, you have to promise to stop."

“I will. I promise.” Sherlock nods.

John kissed him adoringly for some time before he finally detached himself and gingerly helped Sherlock assume his position. It was awkward and John suspected Sherlock was choking down pained moans, but eventually, they were sat so John's cock was accessible to Sherlock's perfect mouth.

Sherlock pants a bit after they got into position. He leans over, hand resting on John’s far hip for balance. He looks up at John before leaning in, kissing along John’s cock reverently.

"oh, sweetheart," John groaned, already knowing he was in for the best blowjob of his life. "That mouth..."

Sherlock blushes sweetly, dragging his tongue up John’s cock from the base to the tip before slowly taking John into his mouth.

John's heart was pounding so hard, he could feel it through his whole body. He couldn't take his eyes off the beauty suckling him and he stroked through the dark curls adoringly. He didn't know Sherlock's experience level with sucking cock so he said, "take your time if you need to..."

Sherlock gives a half snort half laugh and swallows John’s impressive length down easily. He hallows his cheek and bobs his head slowly, dragging it out to put on a show for John.

John was pretty lost immediately. Sherlock was no beginner and clearly knew how to put that mouth of his to amazing use. He was huffing and moaning helplessly and had to direct his focus toward not coming instantly like a teenager.

Sherlock groans around John, knowing the vibrations would be pleasurable.

John babbled a litany of obscenities and praise, none of it intelligible, as he scrambled his fingers in Sherlock's hair. He only started making sense when he gurgled, "darling, I'm going to come, I'm going to come in your mouth, oh, god," and then proceeded to do just that.

Sherlock moans happily, swallowing down John’s cum greedily.

John just wanted for several moments, waiting for the stars to clear. "Jesus Christ, Sherlock, where did you learn to do that?"

“I’m just really good at blowjobs.” Sherlock blushes after pulling off John. “And I really enjoyed sucking your perfect cock so I wanted to make it extra good.”

"You're a perfect Greek fantasy" John gasped, taking his head and snogging him fiercely. He kissed him and praised him for several long minutes, stroking his lean body before muttering into his neck. "Maybe I'll stay here tonight.with you. If you're comfortable with that."

Sherlock blushes brightly, making little soft happy sounds at the praise. “Stay. Please stay.”

John stroked his fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp and kissing his curls. "I can't guarantee I won't do anything odd in my sleep, but I'm pretty sure I wouldn't do anything to hurt you..."

“I want you close.” Sherlock melts against him.

John gazed at the jewels of his eyes, so happy to just have him near. "What do I call you?" he asked. "What name is appropriate? Darling? Angel? Lover? Bunny?"

“Yours.” Sherlock blushes and smiles shyly. “Anything. Anything you want.” He nuzzles him, breathing him in.

John couldn't resist the smile that rose in him. "You commit early? Is that you?" he asked. "You like monogamy and commitment?"

Sherlock blushes and nods. “I don’t have any friends but I can be a good partner.”

"yeah," John said softly, "I imagine you're an amazing partner," 'for me', he thought and winced at how soppy it sounded, even in his own head.

“Want to see?” Sherlock kisses along his jaw.

"See?" John kissed into the softness of his lips. "See what? What an amazing partner you can be?"

Sherlock nods. “I’ll be good to you. Just give me some time.” He kisses him back gently.

John blinked at him a bit. This whole thing was difficult to figure, and his desire for what was on offer clouded his judgment. "Darling..." he said softly, "let's just... take it as it comes, yeah?" Everything would change after the snow melted.

Sherlock blushes and nods, looking down. He always pushed to hard and ended up pushing people always.

"Have you ever heard of Stockholm syndrome?" John asked bluntly.

“Obviously.” Sherlock rolls his eyes.

"Think you might have a touch if it?"

“I don’t think so.”

John chortled. "Of course you don't think so..." Even though he had all the trappings of it. There was simply nothing for it, with the situation they were in. "C'mon," he said gently. "You up for a bath? I should probably change the sheets, too."

“Mm alright.” Sherlock nods.

He was obviously a bit sleepy, but John knew if Sherlock didn't get clean, he would be one helluva cranky piss in the morning. He got the bath prepared and arranged everything for the easiest transference, but he still managed to catch Sherlock's bad leg on the door jam. He winced as if he felt the pain himself as he cradled Sherlock's head against his chest and muttered over and over, "I'm sorry baby. I'm sorry baby."

Sherlock yelped, tears in his eyes at the sudden intense pain. “It’s okay.” He sounds choked.

John knew it wasn't. He'd broken a few limbs himself, but knew a civilian like Sherlock didn't have his pain tolerance. He swiftly and uneventfully got his lover into the tub and retrieved a tin of tuna from the kitchen to soften the blow of the pain meds he'd brought. "I know tuna in the bath isn't very sexy, but neither are pills on an empty stomach."

“Mm you’re the doctor.” Sherlock relaxes in the bath, nibbling on the tuna and taking his pills.

John watched him propped awkwardly in the tub, snacking on fish, and chuckled. "Now it looks like I've captured a mermaid-- man. Merman."

“Are you my Captain then?” Sherlock smirks. 

John's eyebrows went up and he grinned, "I suppose I could be." He leaned in to nip his lover's ear. "If you like that sort of thing..." He'd been a captain in the army, after all.

Sherlock grins and steals a kiss. “I do.”

John gave him a smile and kissed his knuckles, but he sobered considerably and changed the topic. "Your stitches are almost ready to come out."

Sherlock hums and nods, noticing John’s change. “Thank goodness. At least they’ve stopped itching.”

John surveyed him all over. He felt a certain pride that Sherlock was healing so beautifully. He had always been an exceptional doctor. The bruises on Sherlock's face were already pale and contracting and even his leg was knitting cleanly. "You'll be able to run away from me in no time," John said, running his fingertips up Sherlock's shin. "Or swim."

“Mm will you catch me again?” Sherlock grins, enjoying a good chase.

John's eyes were more analytical than flirty. "Only if you wanted to be caught."

“If it’s you then yes.” Sherlock hums.

"Christ, kid," John complained, shaking his head and leaning in to suck on Sherlock's lips. When he sucked on a healing wound hard enough to get a mewl out of his lover, John apologized, "Sorry. Sorry. I just want to eat you alive." He kissed him again, maybe with inconsiderate fierceness before he pulled away and asked, "If I let you go, will you come back to me?"

“Where else would I go?” Sherlock nuzzles him, eyes half lidded.

John nearly laughed. "Anywhere you want. Your life before this. Freedom. Safety. Getting to the goddamn bathroom by yourself. Lots of places."

“And it was all dreadfully boring.” Sherlock rolls his eyes.

John took a flannel from the wash basin and dunked it in the water. "More boring than this? What makes this so acceptable to you?"

“Because you care.” Sherlock shrugs.

John watched the young man's eyes, and how he hid them. He soaped up the flannel and stroked it over Sherlock's arms. "No one's cared for you before? Not even parents? he asked softly, thinking of his own father and the bond they had shared.

“My mother is a workaholic professor who never wanted children and my father was busy with his second secret family. I had a brother but.. I don’t know where he is. We had a falling out over my drug use. I told him I hated him and left. He hasn’t tried to contact me since.” Sherlock hums softly.

"How long ago was that?" John asked, holding his arm aloft so he could scrub his armpit. He would be lying if he said taking care of this handsome young man wasn't a major turn on for him.

“Dunno.. A year and a half? Maybe two.” Sherlock frowns thinking. He squirms a bit, armpit ticklish.

When he squirmed, John bit at the sensitive flesh of his tricep and laughed when he got splashed. "I'm sorry to hear that... He didn't come around when you got sober?"

Sherlock shakes his head. “I never told him I got sober..”

"Why not?"

“I didn’t want to screw up his life anymore..”

John frowned, gingerly reaching into the water to stroke Sherlock's ribs. "How were you screwing up his life?"

“I was a difficult child and teenager. I’m still difficult. It made everything harder on him.” Sherlock mumbles.

"I don't think you're difficult," John said, unhesitatingly tending to Sherlock's genitals. "I would say you've been a bloody delight."

“You’d think so.” Sherlock hums, blushing as John washes him tenderly.

"I do think so," John smiled at him as he went about his work. "You've been excellent company. A wonderful guest. I mean, you sleep a lot, but that's to be expected for someone in your condition. Is that's what it is? Are you a bit manic when you're at full strength?"

Sherlock nods. “I barely sleep or eat. I run experiments. I may have body parts in my fridge that I’ve borrowed..”

John nodded. "You've mentioned that... It sounds odd, but hardly problematic. Unless of course, you're running experiments on people." He was down to Sherlock's legs, scrubbing his delicate ankle.

“No. Just parts of them.” Sherlock flexes his toes.

"were you running experiments on family?" John asked, trying to put it all together.

“Nothing harmful. Just how they’d react to things.”

"Ah-ha!" John pointed an accusatory finger. "Now I've gotten to the bottom of it! Couldn't figure out what on Earth you were talking about, with the 'Im so difficult' and 'i drive people away'. Yes. Experimenting on people would do that." Then he laughed and asked conspiratorially, "What experiments did you do on them?"

“Mostly behavioral things. Seeing how they react to different stimulation.” Sherlock chuckles.

"Such as?"

“Like scratching on my violin at three in the morning with my door locked so they couldn’t come in. My father broke through the door after pounding on it for twenty minutes. I didn’t have a door for months.”

John shook his head. "So, annoying people," he laughed. "You did that to your roommates and boyfriends, too?"

“No. They just found me odd. And I could deduce things about them that they didn’t want anyone to know.” Sherlock shrugs. “Like I told my mother about my father’s secret family.”

John studied Sherlock's toes as he cleaned between them. "That's... I'm sorry, Sherlock. That must have been awful."

“Well I was seven so I didn’t know any better. I remember saying “Mummy, when are we going to meet other mummy?” And she asked me what I meant. I told her what I’d observed and deduced about my father. She sent me to my room and didn't see me until the next day.”

"Did it break your family apart?"

“No but my mother made sure he suffered for it. But he never left his mistress or my mother. I supposedly have half siblings but I’ve never met them.”

"Hmm," John sighed. He lifted Sherlock's freshly cleaned foot to his mouth and kissed it. "I can't imagine living like that. My parents didn't always get on, but there was nothing like that."

“What are they like? Your parents?” Sherlock smiles softly, wanting to know more about John.

John shrugged. "Quite common, I suppose. My father was a man's man. Responsible, dutiful, honorable. My mom was... I suppose she was fiery. Very passionate, a bit snarky. They're both gone, now."

“I’m sorry.” Sherlock says softly.

John shook his head. "It's just part of life. I was lucky to have had two parents who loved me." Who would not be proud of him now.

“I’m glad you had them.”

John took a deep breath and wring out the flannel a bit violently. "My father would have never forgiven me if he knew what I do with you."

“For being with me?”

"For having sex with you."

“He caught you when you were younger.. Didn’t he?” Sherlock asks softly.

John shook his head, no. "My sister came out. It wasn't pretty. She was young. Eight."

“That’s quite young.” Sherlock nods.

"Yes, I think I might have been learning about myself at that time, and I just..." He shook his head. "When did you know you were queer?"

“I didn’t know I was different. I was just me. I was probably twelve or so when I knew that I would never want to have a girlfriend or anything like that since all of my classmates were starting to be interested in relationships.”

John was on to his hair now, sinking his fingers into soapy locks and massaging his scalp. "You didn't have crushes on boys?"

“No. I never was interested in relationships.” Sherlock frowns, most people wouldn’t come to close to him since he was an odd child.

"But your boyfriend...?"

“He kinda of just told me we were together and that’s how it was. I went along with it because he was nice to me and treated me how I thought I was supposed to be treated.” Sherlock shrugs.

John was quiet for several seconds. "And us? I kidnapped you, made you mine, and you're just going along with it?"

“No. I learned what I wanted. I’m stronger now that I left him.” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “You didn’t force me. You didn’t make me yours. I wanted it. Want it.”

John nodded, but he wasn't convinced. He washed the soap from Sherlock's hair and kissed his forehead. "Let's dry you off and get you comfortable.'

Sherlock pulls John in for a kiss. “I think you think you’ve tricked me into liking you but remember I’m the one that found you in the first place.”’

"Not with this in mind. Or were you watching me through telescopes with your hand on your dick?" he asked nuzzling another kiss into Sherlock's lips.

“Mm no but no one need any help seeing how big your dick is.” Sherlock smirks against his lips and kisses him again.

"oh, you didn't need a telescope to see that, huh?" John teased. 'ive got myself a size queen," he joked, lifting Sherlock into his arms.

“You’re fault. You just have so much to offer.” Sherlock chuckled, holding onto John. 

John thought about that as he carefully manuevered Sherlock back into the bedroom. He was struggling with the thoughts he was having about this young man. He'd wanted to fuck him from the moment he saw his photograph. But now he was having the old thoughts his father had instilled in him: home, marriage, family. He was getting carried away and he could only watch it happen.  
He did have a lot to offer. He had learned from his father, how to love hard, commit fiercely, to fight for his family like a tribe. That had all been ripped away from him with his realization in the army. He didn't even know how homosexual relationships were supposed to look. He'd never had it modelled for him. He'd grown up believing gay men were pedophiles and predators. Not good, devoted family men. But as he dried Sherlock from the toes up, he was beginning to get dangerous ideas that it could be.  
"I had a girlfriend in college," he said softly. "She wanted to marry me. Wonderful woman. I... I didn't know why I didn't want to marry her, so I cheated on her to get away from it..."

Sherlock frowns. “And what’s the purpose of telling me that now out of the blue?”

"Just," John shrugged, uncertain himself, "confessing, I guess. Maybe trying to disillusion you from this spell I seem to have you under."

“You’re afraid of commitment and you see yourself having that with me. You’re scared.” Sherlock says softly.

"Sherlock," John sighed, stroking a hand down his good leg. "I--its..." He swallowed. "We've barely known each other for two weeks... In very extraordinary circumstances... I don't think it's wise to get ahead of ourselves." He wasn't certain if he was talking more to Sherlock or to himself.

“Fine. You set the pace. I just like being near you.” Sherlock nods, willing to wait for John no matter how long it took.

John looked up at him and smiled helplessly. He was so charmed. He kissed Sherlock's thigh. "Forgive me if I think you're just too good to be true..."

“I’m an ex addict John. There’s not much good about me.” Sherlock runs his fingers through John’s hair.

John laughed. "Alright. We're both afflicted with self loathing and guilt. No wonder we understand each other so well. Get in bed and let's see if we can finish treasure Island before I have to ravish you again."

Sherlock smiles and cuddles into John when they’re settled.

They got to the end of the book and Sherlock even managed to stay awake for it. John closed the book and turned off the light before burying his nose in the curls of the man reclining across his chest.

Sherlock hums softly and relaxes, eyes closing. “Thank you for reading..” He says softly.

"Sure. I'll get you more pirates tomorrow."

Sherlock hums happily and kisses John’s chest.

"is Peter Pan a pirate story? Seems it might suit you."

“Peter Pan?” Sherlock asks, never having heard of it.

"yeah. You know, JM Barrie. The boy who never grew up."

Sherlock shakes his head. “I don’t know. Is it a children’s story? We didn’t have those. We had textbooks.”

"Sherlock," John shifted to look at his lover's face. "Are you for real? Peter Pan isn't just a children's story, it's... It's popular culture, it's... It is just part of being English!"

Sherlock just shrugs.

"you're a unicorn," John said before he busted out in chuckles.

“Yeah?” Sherlock chuckles.

"Yes. Very suspicious. You're gorgeous, wicked, fascinating, queer, and have never heard of Peter Pan. You can't be real."

Sherlock giggles and blushes.

John smiled and kissed his curls.

Sherlock hums happily and cuddled into John as much as he can without hurting himself.

John leaned over to turn off.the light and snuggled Sherlock against him. "Goodnight, beautiful..." he whispered.

“Mm goodnight, Captain..” Sherlock hums and closes his eyes, snuggled against John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave a comment and tell us what you think! (o^^o)


	4. Four

John didn't wake up that night, but he did start talking. Eyes staring straight ahead, clock reading 2:40 am, John muttered at no one, "He's mine. I found him. He's mine. He said so. I'll kill you."

Sherlock peeks an eye open, listening to him.

John was still for several moments before scrambling to the nightstand and drawing a pen knife, wielding it violently at unseen attackers, whole protectively clutching Sherlock against him.

“John. John. Wake up. You need to wake up.” Sherlock says calmly.

"They're not taking you," John hissed at him fiercely. "They'll have to kill me first." He went quiet, as if listening for sounds outside the cabin.

“John, I’m safe. You saved me, remember? We’re safe. It’s just us here.” Sherlock says softly.

John cradled Sherlock's head against him and shushed him, kissing his crown to shush him. He was silent for many long minutes, body alert and poised to spring. Eventually, he whispered, "They've either left or taken cover..."

“They’ve left. They know they don’t stand a chance against you.” Sherlock says softly, kissing along his jaw gently.

John swooned for a moment before his eyes regained their hawklike sharpness. "They won't give up. We're not allowed prisoners. But you're mine. I killed a lot of people for you. You're my prize." He squeezed Sherlock and kissed his forehead. "You sleep. I'll keep watch." He tightened his grip on the knife, ready to jump up and stab.

Sherlock frowns and holds John close, deciding to ride this out.

John remained alert all night. He interrupted Sherlock's sleep twice before morning to run to the window or take a position by the door. Both times, he returned to Sherlock again, always keeping a hand on him to ensure he wasn't snatched away. When John actually awoke himself, he was startled to find he had a weapon not only in hand but aloft. "Holy shit!" he yipped.

“Ah you’re awake.” Sherlock hums.

John threw the knife away and fell to a manic investigation of Sherlock s well being. "Did I hurt you? Shit did I hurt you?"

“I’m fine. I’m fine. You dont hurt me. You were protecting me.” Sherlock let’s John look him over, knowing he wouldn’t be satisfied until he was sure.

"I was bloody what?" John asked, his face in his hands. "By throwing a knife around I was WHAT?"

“You were sleepwalking. You thought some kind of enemy was here trying to take me from you.” Sherlock says softly.

John held his head in his hands. "This is why I don't sleep in here... It's an army thing, the only time I've slept around other people is when ... When I've been in danger. Christ, I could really hurt you."

“It’s a PTSD thing.” Sherlock says softly.

"yeah, I know," John replied, tetchy.

Sherlock takes John’s hand and kisses his knuckles gently.

"I can't sleep with you," John huffed, watching him closely and squeezing Sherlock's hand. "I can't-- I have to stay in the living room." John was exhausted and irritated.

“Whatever makes you most comfortable.” Sherlock nods, kissing his finger tips.

John sighed heavily. "I-- shit, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Sherlock." This was important to him. He had dreams of holding his beloved through the night and it devastated him that he couldn't do it.

“It’s okay. It’ll take time. We’ve got it.” Sherlock nods, smiling softly.

"No," John huffed. "It's... What was it? What did I do?" He cringed to hear it.

“You got the knife and held me close saying how you wouldn’t let them take me. How I’m yours and they can’t have me.” Sherlock says softly.

John kept his eyes closed. "Did I say who they were? Who I thought you were?"

“You said “They won't give up. We're not allowed prisoners. But you're mine. I killed a lot of people for you. You're my prize” and that’s about it.”

John covered his face in his hands and just kept sinking until he was smashed into the bedspread.

Sherlock runs his fingers though John’s hair, trying to soothe him.

"I'm not... I'm not a stable person, Sherlock," he growled against the sheets. "I have dark... fantasies."

“Tell me.” Sherlock says softly.

John ran his hand across his eyes and was quiet for a long time. "I... Things weren't ... In the army... Things weren't what I expected..." He didn't even know where to start with this and he knew his stream of consciousness wasn't making much sense. "When I realized I couldn't fit in... The way I was, I just... I fantasized alternatives... So I could have what I wanted... Even if it was bad. And wrong. I did things, Sherlock..."

Sherlock stays quiet, just listening.

John reached out and grabbed his hand, then massaged it hard. But he didn't speak anymore.

Sherlock is quiet for a while. “I can’t imagine what you experienced. But what I do know is you found a way to cope. Good or bad you’re here.”

John nodded. "If you didn't want me, Sherlock... If you didn't... I don't know what I would have done."

“Well I’ve got you now. Good luck getting away.” Sherlock smiles softly.

John crawled up to him, pressing his face into his neck. "Two more weeks of this, Holmes. Think you can stand two more weeks of me?"

“I’ll take all I can get.” Sherlock smiles softly, kissing John’s head.

John took hold of his head and kissed him soundly. "My intel showed me a picture of you," he muttered against his lips. "You were the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Wanted you."

“Yeah?” Sherlock blushes.

"mmhmm," John affirmed against his lips. "you have to know how striking you are."

“I.. I look like an alien.” Sherlock frowns.

John couldn't help laughing. "You..." He choked down a few snickers. "No. You have very strong cheekbones, yes, but... Not an alien. Or a very sexy alien. There is something otherworldly about you, certainly."

Sherlock’s high alien like cheekbones flush pink. “You like them?”

"I do," John leaned into kiss them. "I think you're beautiful. Wonderfully unique." He nuzzled to his ear. "you're exactly the thing I would have killed my way across the desert to get a hold of."

“Now you have me. What’s next?” Sherlock nuzzles him.

John groaned deeply. "Now I smother you with adoration and keep you drunk with too much sex and spend my every waking hour fussing over your well-being."

“Thank goodness.” Sherlock kisses him happily.

John held him tight and panted against him, "Is it wrong for me to have that fantasy? To want to keep you as a pet? A prize?"

“Mm a trophy?” Sherlock smiles.

John kissed him a few times as he thought about it. "My captive. My booty. My spoils."

“All yours.” Sherlock kisses him.

"Yes," John smiled. "Like if I were a pirate. And you were an innocent young Englishman on his first voyage. And while we sacked your ship, my men would take all the silver and gold, but I would just take you."

“Such a romantic.” Sherlock grins and kisses him.

"You think so?" John asks, uncertain. To him the fantasy was rather dark. If Sherlock thought it was romantic, well... Maybe they were both unstable.

“Of course. We’d rule the seas together.” Sherlock grins.

John watched the young man as he stroked his cheekbones. He couldn't tell if he was naive or just willfully positive. Either way, John couldn't resist adoring him harder. "Breakfast?"

“Lovely.” Sherlock kisses John’s palm.

John couldn't stop staring at him. He felt enchanted. "Definitely a mermaid," he muttered. Then, "What do you want to do today?" He listened for the answer as he went into the kitchen to start breakfast.

“Eggs.” Sherlock relaxes back.

John used cooking to settle down. He was an excellent cook. His whole company had told him so. He made Sherlock a beautiful cup of tea and even made him some extra sausage. "You don't eat well, back in London," he told Sherlock when he arrived with breakfast. "You're too skinny."

“I don’t have anyone to remind me to eat.” Sherlock shrugs.

"Who needs to be reminded to eat?"

“I do.”

John laughed. "Gonna need to get your strength back up. How are you feeling?"

“Alright. But tired and sore.” Sherlock smiles. 

"Yeah," John frowned. "We should probably try to get you exercising... Hobble around a bit."

“Going to whittle me some crutches?” Sherlock hums and he eats.

John licked his lips, watching him. "I was thinking about it. I'd have to go cut down a tree -- I think I know one that would work.... It'd probably take me a day or two but you wouldn't be bed ridden anymore. And you could get to the bathroom on your own."

“What? You’re serious? Like you can do that?” Sherlock blinks.

John shrugged and nodded. "I've done weirder things in weird situations," he said, a few coming to mind.

“Tell me.” Sherlock grins and eats.

"Well," John laughed. "I was working with a Russian operative in Indonesia. He got pretty beat up, lost a lot of blood." He went quiet for a moment, visualising it. "Had to give him a plasma transfusion from a coconut."

“You joking.” Sherlock’s jaw drops, hanging on John’s every word.

John shook his head, no.

“You’re brilliant.” Sherlock grins and kisses him.

"Anyone could be brilliant in a situation like that -- you rather have to be, or you die."

“No. Not anyone. Just you.”

"Of you say so, then," John laughed. "Just me. But if I made you a crutch, you promise to use it?"

“I will. I promise.” Sherlock smiles.

John nodded at him. "Let me get a cup of coffee, then I'll go out and chop that tree."

“Can I watch?” Sherlock blushes.

John looked back at him from the door. "You want to watch me chop down a tree?"

“Yes.” Sherlock blushes harder.

John laughed. "You horny thing. Of course. We'll have to prop you up in the bay window put front. Coffee first."

Sherlock blushes and smiles excitedly. “Thank you.”

John ultimately decided he needed two cups of coffee, but after that, he addressed the first order of business and put Sherlock in the bay window. He sat with him there for another cup of coffee before he ensconced himself in goose down and braved the outdoors.  
It was ugly out there. The visibility was extremely poor and John had to fight through a five foot snowbank before he could even get to the tree. The tree, then needed digging out, so Sherlock's view of the trembling top of a junior tree was a bit underwhelming.  
It took quite some time. Even after the tree was felled, John had to strip it down to size so it might inhabit the cabin with them. He got extra kindling and firewood out of it, and eventually, he appeared back in the cabin, covered in head to toe with wind-packed snow and panting like a bear.

“God, you’re sexy.” Sherlock licks his lips as he looks John over.

John looked down at himself. He looked like the abominable snowman. And as cold as he was, his body was sluicing sweat. He laughed out loud and trembled. "Wish you could walk and come strip me out of this," he said, letting the tree fall to the floor.

“Come here and let me do it.” Sherlock beckons him over.

It wasn't terribly sexy, but John managed to shuffle over to him, shedding clumps of snow the whole way

Sherlock slowly peels John out of his snowsuit.

It was a mess in there. John was panting even as he stood in his soaking under clothes. He smiled at Sherlock and stroked his face before leaning down to kiss him.

Sherlock hums happily and kisses him back. “You’re freezing.”

"yeah," John woofed, freezing and sweating at the same time.

“Go dry off and put warm clothes on.”

John stroked through his hair and nodded. "Can't wait to get into the bath with you ... When you're well enough."

“Soon. My stitches can come out soon. Or so my Doctor says.” Sherlock kissing him again.

John smiled against his lips, silly with affection for him. "Be right back," he said going into the bathroom and getting in the bath. The water was so comfortable, and after his sleepwalking last night, he was exhausted. He slipped off to sleep more minutes after getting in the bath.

Sherlock frowns after John is gone for some time. “John? Are you alright?” He calls out.

It took Sherlock calling a second time, but then John was up and out of the bath before he was even awake, where he launched himself, naked and dripping into the living room, looking for a threat. "You ok?

“I’m fine. You were gone for nearly an hour. I thought you had drown.” Sherlock frowns. “I’m sorry.”

John blinked, slowly coming back to himself. "Oh," he blinked down at his wet form, suddenly amused. "Water was cold, anyway." He gave Sherlock a light sprinkling of the tepid bathwater.

“John!” Sherlock laughs, wiping the water off himself.

John took advantage of his momentary distraction to take hold of him and smooch him up all over.

Sherlock squeals and laughs, pulling John in and kissing him deeply.

John held him fast against him, purring happily into his mouth. He pulled away with a few fond pecks and nuzzles and asked, "you get cold out here by the window? Shall I take you to bed or do you want to be put here a little longer?"

“Mm take me to bed.” Sherlock grins.

"Oh!" John said, catching his expression, "That's a devilish look. What am I getting myself in for?" He asked as he hoisted Sherlock into his arms.

Sherlock holds onto him, kissing and nipping at his neck. “Mm what if I told you I was really in the mood to suck you off?”

John smiled and squeezed him tighter before crawling up on the bed with him. "Then who am I to deny you, darling?"

“You’re so good to me.” Sherlock kisses him. 

"How do you want to do it?" John muttered against his lips. "Like we did last time, or do you want to lie back?"

“Lie back?” Sherlock asks.

"mmhmm," John nuzzled him. "I can... You know, straddle your face."

“Ohh yes. I like that.” Sherlock nods excitedly.

It took some situating, but they arranged themselves so Sherlock was on his back and John was astride his chest, cock lengthening and lifting.

Sherlock held John’s hips, kissing along his cock tenderly.

"You have the most perfect mouth I've ever seen on a person," John sighed, feeling his cock swell under the attention.

“Mm good. It fits perfectly around you perfect cock.” Sherlock mumbled softly, kissing the tip gently.

John felt a blood rush to his cock so intense he nearly swooned. "Oh, suck, darling, please."

Sherlock chuckles and takes John into his mouth, easily swallowing his impressive length down his throat.

John let Sherlock guide him with his hands on his thighs and soon he was rocking steadily into Sherlock's beautiful, perfect mouth. He reached down and stroked his hair adoringly.

Sherlock moans and swallows around him, eyes closing in pleasure.

"How do you do that? John squeaked as he thrust deep and long.

Sherlock just smirks and takes him deeper, his nose presses to John’s skin.

"Don't hurt yourself," John panted. "Don't hurt yourself you darling," he gasped, "mermaid!" He was getting close, but he didn't want to choke his lover.

Sherlock moans and swallows around him, working his cock over with his throat muscles.

"Oh, jesus, as soon as you're mobile, I'm going to fuck you over every piece of furniture in this house, shit....."

Sherlock moans loudly, bobbing his head enthusiastically.

"Oh, darling ...! Sherlock! I'm going to come... Sweetheart, I'm going to come!"

Sherlock whines needy, wanting John’s cum and working hard for it.

John choked and snarled before he was coming down Sherlock's throat, his thrusts short and deep.

Sherlock moans happily and swallows greedily.

John pulled out of his mouth and curled over him, panting. He kissed over his forehead and curls and stroked his face. "You are unbelievable at that," he gasped, stroking some overspill away from his lips.

Sherlock nuzzles him. “You’re cock is my most favorite one I’ve ever had.” He slurs, a bit cum drunk.

John kissed his forehead over and over. "I don't like the idea of you with any other cock. Makes me jealous."

“Mm believe me I only want yours.” Sherlock pulls him in and kisses him.

John kissed his devotedly, carefully working himself more comfortably down Sherlock's body. He stroked a hand down his belly and pushed under his pajama bottoms to grasp his cock.

Sherlock gasps softly against John’s lips, wrapping his arms around his shoulders.

John loved that. He cuddled in close and gave Sherlock Eskimo kisses. "You get hard sucking me?" he asked, exploring Sherlock's cock with his fingertips.

Sherlock blushes brightly and nods. “If you fucked my face with me in my knees if probably cum untouched.”

John's pupil's dilates and his cock twitched as it did when he was a teenager and ready for another go. "Could you...?" he asked, breathless. "Why? What about that turns you on so much?"

“I don’t know. It just.. When there’s hot hard cock down my throat I don’t have to think. About anything. I can focus completely on that delicious cock against my tongue. Everything narrows down to that one point and all I want to do is suck.” Sherlock babbles, rocking up into John’s hand.

John took hold of him firmly, but his strokes were punishingly slow. His voice pitched down several octaves. "Do you feel that way with a cock up your ass?"

“Yes yes yes.” Sherlock moans desperately, trying to thrust up into John’s hands. “I want it. Want you. Please. I can’t stand you not fucking me anymore.” He whines.

"My god," John panted him, his heart pounding. "When youre well enough, I'm going to positively torture you..." He worked the flannel off of Sherlock's hips and fumbled for the bedroom oil. He slicked his fingers and worked one into his lover.

“Whatever you want. As long as I’m full of your cock and cum.” Sherlock moans and arches, relaxing to take his fingers.

John dug the fingers of his unoccupied hand into Sherlock's pec and thrust a second finger inside him. "I swear to you," he panted as his cock was miraculously reawakening, " I will take you back to London as soon as I can and give you more cock and cum than you can handle."

“All if it. I want it all.” Sherlock begs, spreading his good leg more.

John kissed him and distracted him while he felt around for Sherlock's nub. It slicked past his fingers, but he caught it again and began to milk. "Think you could come from just this?"

Sherlock whimpers and nods, his cock leaks steadily into a pool on his belly.

John groaned and dropped his mouth to Sherlock's nipple, leaving it with his tongue. He knew what prostate stimulation could do to a man and he'd spent quite some time perfecting his technique in the army. He was quite sure Sherlock's bastard ex couldn't have done anything like this for him.

Sherlock cries out and comes hard embarrassingly fast, cum hitting his chin he comes so hard. He couldn’t hold back from the stimulation to his prostate and his nipples were so sensitive. He pants for a few seconds before blushing hard and covering his face. “I’m sorry.”

John took his time gently pulling out of Sherlock's arse and detaching from his nipple. God, he wanted to devour him. "Hm?" he looked up at him, his blood rejuvenated.

“I.. I came..” Sherlock peeks through his fingers, sounding ashamed and a bit afraid. “I came to fast. I’m sorry.”

"What?" For a moment, John assumed he had to be joking. But when Sherlock didn't emerge from behind his hands, he became concerned. "Hey," he cajoled softly. "What's going on? C'mon, come out and talk to me."

Sherlock slowly puts his hands down but doesn’t look at John. “I shouldn’t have come so fast. I’m sorry.”

"Making you come is the point, darling," John grinned, nibbling on his ear. Then a thought struck him. "Unless you want me to be cross that you came. Is that a game?"

Sherlock shakes his head, not knowing how to tell John that his ex would get abusive if he came first or sooner than his ex wanted.

John could see from his expression that this was very much not a game. He gently stroked Sherlock's cheek. "I'm never going to be angry at you for enjoying yourself," he said reasonably. "I want you to feel good. That's what this is about."

Sherlock frowns a bit and looks at John, reading his face and seeing he’s telling the truth. “Oh..”

John frowned back, reading a lot in Sherlock's behaviour. "How bad?' he asked carefully. "How badly did he hurt you?"

Sherlock looks away again. “Badly enough that I’d pass out and wake up to him fucking me again..” Sherlock mumbles.

John's expression hardened and he rolled onto his back. He gave the ceiling a long, hard perusal.

Sherlock curls up with tears in his eyes, thinking John was disgusted with him being tainted. “You don’t have to have anything to do with me anymore. As soon as I’m able I’ll go. You’ll never have to hear or see me again. I promise.” He whispers after a bit.

"What?" John watched him for a second, trying g to get a bead on what was happening.

“It’s fine. You don't have anything to do with me. I know I’m tainted. I should have told you before. I’m sorry. Just.. Just take care of me and as soon as I’m healed I’ll go.” Sherlock curls up tighter.

"Uhh.." John had no idea what to say. He was clearly encountering a sort of trauma response here, but his training was in physical wounds, not emotional ones. "Hey," he said, tugging on the arm Sherlock was hiding behind. "Hey, come out. Look. I don't know what you're talking about. You aren't tainted. What are you talking about? Come here." He gathered Sherlock into his arms as much as he could and kissed his curls. "I swear, I've never seen anyone in such a bad mood from such a good orgasm," he joked gently. "Look, I'm taking you back to London with me, and I'm going to sod you senseless for the first month solid, and I'm only going to leave the flat to bring you this Seb Wilkes' head on a platter. That's what I every bit plan on doing unless you have objections."

Sherlock shakes his head and cuddles into John. “You still want me?” He whispers.

"I told you, you're my mermaid... I'm not letting you go. I mean, unless you wanted to go. But even then, I'd fight for you. Well, I mean. That's not a great use of words, but... I would. I think we... I think we have something. Don't you? I think you're ... Incredibly special."

Sherlock nods and smiles softly. “Thank you.” He nuzzles him.

"He did a number on you, didn't he?"

Sherlock frowns and nods.

John nuzzled his forehead and kissed down his nose to his lips. "Look. I don't know what we're doing here. I don't know what's happening between us, but... I ... I want to show you something better. Alright? You deserve to have someone be good to you. You deserve better than me, but I'm what you have right now. And you, you're just. You're such a gem. You're so bloody special. I don't know what I'm saying, just... Don't be afraid of me. I won't hurt you." He'd decided that. Even if Sherlock told him he was going to the police with everything he'd learned, John knew his heart would never permit harming Sherlock.

Sherlock blushes brightly and kisses him adoringly.

"was that right?" John asked against his lips. "I said the right thing?"

“It was. It was perfect.” Sherlock kisses him again.

"Oh, good," John smiled, kissing him back. "You got pretty grim there. And I'm not all that great at this relationship stuff. But I'm trying."

“Neither am I. But I want to be good. For you. To you.” Sherlock smiles softly.

John sighed hard and planted his lips on Sherlock's forehead. "Sounds like we're off to a great start." He held Sherlock close and stroked up and down his arm. "Full disclosure, I've only ever been a shit boyfriend. Really, quite bad. Um. Don't really know.... who I am." He nodded. That was about as true as anything could be said. "I don't know who I am."

“We’ll find out together.” Sherlock cuddles him close. “Sorry I spoiled things with getting upset.” He nuzzles him. “If you wanted to you could still fuck me..”

"Dunno, pretty tired," John said, practically cocooning him with his body. "Didn't sleep too well last night. Apparently, I was awfully busy laying claim to you, then, too."

“Nap then..” Sherlock wraps his arms around John.

John settled in, drawing the covers over them both. "I think I will... I have a crutch to fashion. And after that's done, I'm going to have to find strength to keep.up.with you. You'll be positively zipping around."

“Mm you’ll have to keep up somehow.” Sherlock chuckles softly and runs his fingers through John’s hair gently.

"Sex you up until you're too tired, too," John muttered, already sipping away.

“I know. You’ll give it to me so good. I can’t wait.” Sherlock says softly and kisses John’s head softly.

"So good," John kissed his ear. "Teach you how good sex can be."

“Please.” Sherlock nuzzles him.

John gave him a few more kisses and swiftly dropped off. He slept a full three hours before he snorted awake and yawned until his jaw cracked.

Sherlock holds John close, dozing with him. “Mm Hello.” He says softly as John wakes.

"Did I do anything weird this time?"

“Nope. You slept perfect.”

John positively beamed. "Maybe I'm getting used to you," he laughed. "Soon enough, I'll be able to smell you in a mile radius."

“Wonderful.” Sherlock kisses John happily, thinking that could come in handy if John could find him when they’re out on cases that is if John would like to do that kind of thing.

John smiled into his kiss. "You need anything? Otherwise I'll get to work on this crutch. I'm eager to see you up and about."

“I’m good for now.” Sherlock smiles and nods.

John kissed over his face, then his knuckles a few times over. "Call if you need anything," he advised, before going into the other room where he began the arduous work of crafting a crutch.

Sherlock smiles and relaxes, going into his mind palace.

John worked for hours, only stopping to have a meal with Sherlock in the evening. He had a few underpowered power tools at his disposal and a lot of swearing could be heard from the living room. It was around two in the morning that John marched in, brandishing a beautiful, sanded, padded, balanced crutch to a Sherlock who may or may not have been awake.

Sherlock opened his eyes as he heard John coming. “Finished?”

"what do you think?" He asked, sweaty and beaming and proud

“It’s beautiful.” Sherlock grins.

John smiled at him, eyes sparkling. "I shouldn't have woken you up... I just wanted you to see.. how late is it? Oh, shit," he balked at the clock.

“Shush. Let me try it out and we’ll go to bed.” Sherlock smiles.

"ok," John grinned. "Just to the bathroom and back, ok? Don't want to try too much too soon. You'll be surprised by how much your muscles have atrophied. Sorry the splint is so clunky, it had to be strong," he babbled as he helped Sherlock up.

“I’m sure it’s perfect.” Sherlock kisses him softly, slowly standing.

John got him to his feet and awaited the reaction.

Sherlock stood there for a second with the crutch, getting used to it. “This is brilliant.”

"Yeah? Try walking. Take it really easy, ok?" He was concerned about Sherlock putting weight on that leg. It would be very painful.

Sherlock nods, slowly starting to walk and being careful of his leg.

John helped him to the bathroom, mindful of his pained hisses and made.mental notes as to how to adjust his splint. It wasn't a roaring success, but at least John didn't have to bodily haul him, and Sherlock could get a bit of exercise.

Sherlock panted a bit and was sore but it was progress at least.

When John got him back to the bed, they were both knackered. So knackered that John didn't hesitate crawling into bed behind him, spooning him snugly and falling into a deep sleep.

Sherlock presses close to John as they slept.


	5. Five

John was looking out the window around midday a week or so later. The snow had stopped and the roof and hood of the car were visible. He knew that shortly the outside world would be available to them and they would have to leave the cozy paradise they'd made together. John didn't want to, he found. The idea filled him with apprehension. He turned to look back at Sherlock on the sofa where they had been assembling a puzzle. It had been rather difficult and had kept Sherlock busy for some time.

Sherlock assembles the puzzle slowly since it had a few thousand pieces. “I can hear you brooding.” He hums.

"Look who's talking," John grinned. "You brood louder than anyone ive ever known."

Sherlock chuckles and looks at him. “What are you thinking about?”

John sucked on his teeth. He didn't want to tell him, but it would come up sooner or later. "We'll be able to leave in a few days."

“Oh..” Sherlock frowns a bit.

"Yes, oh," John said, going to the table to pour more tea and watch the progress of the puzzle. "I would say we could make it away safely by Thursday at the earliest. I have a plow I put on the car."

“Well.. I mean.. there’s no rush really..” Sherlock says, trying to sound nonchalant.

John sat down next to him, quiet for a moment before he said, "As much as I'd like to, we can't.stay here forever. You're going stir crazy as it is. You were nearly chewing apart the sofa before I found that puzzle."

Sherlock frowns but nods. “I miss London..”

John nodded. "And I want to get you to a proper hospital as soon as I can."

Sherlock sighs and nods.

John reached over and stroked his cheek. "Your poor brother will probably be missing you."

Sherlock nuzzles into his hand. “He probably hasn’t even notice I’m gone.” He huffs.

"Maybe. You'd be surprised how families can activate when something big happens to one of their own." He'd seen it a lot. "So... Do you have a place in London? Where will I be dropping you off?" He aimed for levity.

“I have a flat.” Sherlock shrugs.

"Right. Good," John said, then went quiet.

“There’s two bedrooms. If you want to umm.. If you don’t have a regular place. You could you know.. Stay.” Sherlock shrugs, blushing brightly and not looking at John.

John swallowed and eventually reached over and took Sherlock's hand. "When I started -- that is, after I was discussing, I arranged my life under the belief I would never share it with anyone." He gave Sherlock's hand a squeeze. "I don't know what to do..."

“Maybe we can.. Just date?” Sherlock asks, the question coming out clunky.

For some reason, the question highlighted how improbable it would be for this thing between them to exist back in civilization. His heart let out a sharp cry, then went silent. "Nothing we have to figure out now."

Sherlock nods, knowing that come Thursday everything would come crashing down when they’d have to leave.

John kissed each of his knuckles very slowly and deliberately. Then he leaned in and kissed Sherlock's throat.

Sherlock blushes and mewls softly, tipping his head back.

John took his time, kissing up Sherlock's throat to his jaw. He took several long minutes kissing his lips before cradling his face and putting, "You are the most staggeringly beautiful thing I have ever seen."

“John..” Sherlock blushes pink, even his ears.

John had to laugh. " You also blush more than any creature alive."

“Shush.” Sherlock blushes and hides his face in his neck.

"You'd think we'd just met yesterday, the way you blush," John said, kissing what he could reach of him. "You'd think you didn't know I adore you, the way you blush."

“I know. That’s what makes me blush.” Sherlock kisses his neck.

"you have to know that I adore you," John said, bowing his head.

“I know.” Sherlock nibbles at his neck.

John pulled him as close as he could with the splint before pulling back with a sudden realization. "I have a bottle of Macalister whiskey in the pantry! We should have a glass!"

“Okay.” Sherlock laughs and smiles.

John practically skipped to the cupboard and returned with two glasses. "I do this every year. Come out here with a great bottle of whiskey and just enjoy myself for a month or so... Unwind a bit. Get drunk and... Try not to let my thoughts get too dark. Forgot all about it with you being here and all," he babbled as he poured.

“I’ve kept you pretty busy.” Sherlock smiles.

"Kept me pretty distracted," John smiled, treating himself to a sip and purring at how good it was.

“That’s what I said.” Sherlock smirks and takes a sip, nearly moaning at the taste.

"Is it?" John winked at him. "I like 'distracted' better than 'busy', because even when I wasn't tending to your every whim, you were the only thing on my mind." He couldn't blame his being overly soppy on the alcohol, after having just one sip. But he could blame it on the breaking point that was just around the corner.

“Oh.” Sherlock blushes, already tinged a bit pink from the alcohol.

"Good isn't it?" John asked, waggling the snifter at him. Then he paused and frowned. "Oh dear. It's not going to interrupt your sobriety, is it?"

“No. I mostly did cocaine.” Sherlock nods.

"Yes, but usually people go off everything addictive when they're trying to recover."

Sherlock shrugs and takes another sip. “Alcohol isn’t really my thing.”

John just shrugged. "So long as you're sure."

“I’m sure.” Sherlock nods. “It doesn’t have the same burn. It makes things.. Louder when I need them quieter.”

"Alcohol makes things louder?"

Sherlock nods. “For me it does. It makes people hyper and stupider.”

"I promise, I will get neither hyper nor stupid," John said somberly. Then he reviewed his life in his head. "Actually, I recind that statement. I will definitely get hyper and stupid."

Sherlock chuckles softly and shakes his head. “I like you in any state.”

"I like you, too," John said staring at Sherlock with nothing short of bald adoration.

Sherlock blushes brightly and sips his drink.

They both say there, sipping whiskey for some time. When John felt himself growing somber, he rose and started a fire in the fireplace. He watched it swell to full health before he returned to Sherlock and poured them both another glass. "What do you miss most about London?"

“Mm..” Sherlock thinks. “The energy. The smells. The sounds. The underbelly.”

"Everything, then."

Sherlock nods.

John stroked Sherlock's ankle, letting the coarse hair catch on his nails. He finished his second glass of whiskey and put it down on the table. "What are you going to miss most about this cabin?"

“This.” Sherlock nods to the intimacy between John and himself.

John stroked his face again, fingers a bit clumsy from the whiskey. "Yeah," he said softly. "Know what I'll miss? Being able to kiss you whenever I want."

“Why wouldn’t you be able to there?” Sherlock frowns a bit.

John smiled, but it faltered. "I just don't know, darling... I don't, i--" he swallowed and bowed his head. "After all this, I can't imagine living without you .. but there are a lot of people out there who would love to get to me... A whole lot of people who ... I have so much information, darling, there are people that would stop at nothing to get to it, and I can't stop or slow down, or they'll catch me. This is all I have. This cabin, when the weather gets bad, but when it thaws... I have to run again. Run and hide and kill. That's what I do."

Sherlock frowns and looks down at his leg. “And I won’t be able to keep up..” he says softly, assuming that’s what John is trying to say gently.

"Huh?" John followed his gaze to his leg. "What? Oh, no -- that'll be fine. You're healing well and it was a very clean break, you'll be fine. What I'm trying to say, darling, is I don't want to put you in danger."

“I chase down serial killers for fun. That choice is out of your hands.” Sherlock rolls his eyes.

"That's... Different, that's very different, but you shouldn't be doing that, either!" John sighed very hard. "My god, you need someone looking after you."

“It seems like you’re quite comfortable in that position.” Sherlock flops back dramatically on the couch.

"I definitely like it," John admitted with a sigh. He poured himself another whiskey before reaching over and trailing a hand up Sherlock's thigh, under his dressing gown. "I do every bit enjoy looking after you."

“I know.” Sherlock let’s his leg fall open a bit. 

John casually untied the belt on Sherlock's robe and let it fall open, taking him in. He still wasn't used to this beautiful man willingly giving him access to everything. He moved closer, between his splinted leg supported by the coffee table and the other tucked up against the back of the sofa. John leaned in and kissed his navel, gently tonguing the small divot.

“John.” Sherlock gasps softly, arching into his tongue.

John had no problem winding him up with no foreseeable plans of getting him off. He kissed up the soft center valley of Sherlocks abs and made his way to his delicate pink nipples. He kissed them both softly, repeatedly. He had to catch himself from collapsing atop of his wounded lover. "Just think," he said,nuzzling his pec, "in a week or so, I'll be able to be on top of you."

“Please.” Sherlock whines desperately.

"Please what?" John laughed, reaching over for another snuff of whiskey. When he was done, he offered it to Sherlock.

Sherlock downs it. “Fuck me.”

"Oh." John blinked. "What, like, properly?" Things were a little soft around the edges for him at the moment.

“Yes properly. I want you inside me.” Sherlock begs.

"Oh,"John said again, a little dazed. He looked down at the offering beneath him and remembered how Sherlock had no understanding of how good it could be to be the receptive partner in sex. He knew there was no chance in hell he'd be leaving this cabin without making his lover feel exquisite. "Ok," he said, his voice ragged. "We're going to have to go to the bedroom. And get creative."

Sherlock grins and pulls John in, kissing him hard.

John kissed him back with equal passion. He scooped him into his arms and helped him stumble into the bedroom.

Sherlock kisses and nips at his jaw and neck, pulling John down onto the bed with him.

John knew the ingenuity of this would be in the arrangement of Sherlock. He also knew Sherlock would not be helping. He subdued his lover with what kisses he could spare while focusing primarily on putting Sherlock on a position where his arse was available but his leg safeguarded.

Sherlock melts at the kisses, letting John manipulate home however he needed.

"You lazy, spoiled thing," John sighed. He rolled Sherlock onto his side, injured leg on the mattress and perpendicular. Then he tucked Sherlock's top leg against his chest. "Alright?"

“The only thing that could make it better if you were balls deep inside me.” Sherlock purrs.

John leaned over from where he was behind him and kissed him very deeply indeed. Perhaps it was the alcohol or the cosmic glowing that was building in his chest that made this feel like something other than a Let's Pass The Time fuck.

Sherlock kisses him back and holds him close.

John swiftly procured the bedroom oil and slathered it in his hands to warm it. Then he spooned up behind Sherlock, his dressing gown rucked up around his waist and began stroking him between his legs.

Sherlock moans, rocking needy against John.

John kissed him again, even though he was torqued at an awkward angle. Then he carefully slipped a finger inside him and opened him as carefully as he always did.

“Yes.” Sherlock gasps and relaxes

John smiled. "So much more relaxed than when I first touched you," he purred, cradling Sherlock's head in his arms as he pressed a second finger into him. "You open right up for me."

“I love it. Love having any part of you inside me.” Sherlock mewls, hole relaxing around his fingers.

John kissed him again, over and over, before he felt Sherlock could take a third. After he pushed inside, he asked, "Alright?" If they were doing this properly, Sherlock would need to be able to accommodate a lot more than he'd ever had before.

“Yes yes. So good.” Sherlock moans, hips rocking slightly.

John kissed him and praised him endlessly, telling him over and over that he was beautiful, that he wanted him, that he would make him feel Good. He made sure to stroke and tease his button several times to ensure that by the time he pulled his fingers loose, Sherlock was eager and needy for him. Then he undressed entirely, folding himself over Sherlock's back and teasing the tip of his cock between Sherlocks legs. "You ready, darling?"

“Ready. Want you. Need you.” Sherlock moans, rocking back against him trying to get John inside him.

John sucked on his ear hard as he pushed forward and felt Sherlock's hole close around him. He nearly choked at the clench of it and stroked Sherlock's hip. "Good?"

“Fuck yes. So good. So so good.” Sherlock groans, nearly drooling as the thick full sensation. “You’re huge.”

John nearly crushed him in his arms as he pushed up inside him, curling his hips forward until he was buried to the hilt. He'd never been harder in his life. "Oh my god ... You're amazing."

“I’m never not going to be able to have you inside me.” Sherlock moans.

John chuckled into his throat and slowly began to thrust. He felt Sherlock trembling from within and it made his breath catch. "You feel so good. My god, you're perfect. Want to fuck you forever."

“God please. Never stop. Don’t you dare stop.” Sherlock begs, cock leaking already.

"I just started," John panted against his neck, rocking his hips faster into Sherlock's gripping, clenching heat. He could feel him struggling to adjust to his girth initially, bit slowly he relaxed and opened more. When John felt him start to give, he groaned deep in his belly and pushed deeper.

Sherlock wraps his arm back around John’s head and pulls him in, kissing him deeply. “So good. You feel so good inside me. I love your cock. Love the way you fuck me.” He mumbles against his lips.

It was hard to maintain awareness of his leg when all John wanted to do was fuck him through the mattress.loke an animal. "You're getting softer inside. Can you feel it? You're letting me in. Oh, God ..."

“I want you. All of you. Every bit I can get if you inside me. I want it.” Sherlock begs, actively drooling now.

John had never seen anyone drool during sex and was surprised to find it turned him on. He started pushing into Sherlock's deeper and harder, kissing all over his neck and face, keeping his hand on Sherlock's hip to keep him pinned against his thrusts. He found however that it was difficult to find Sherlock's prostate like this. He pulled out and got a knee under himself before sinking into Sherlock from a different, extreme angle and he was delighted to feel the man's nub slip past the crown of his cock on the first stroke.

Sherlock’s gasps and moans loudly, arching. “Yes! Oh John yes!”

John couldn't reach as much of Sherlock as he wanted from this position, bit it was a fair tradeoff for the obvious pleasure he was driving into his lover. " Christ you're beautiful," he panted, arching over him. "So fucking beautiful, Christ I love you," he babbled.

Sherlock cries out and comes hard as John says he loves him.

John took a handful of Sherlocks curls and drove into him hard, his head bowed onto Sherlock's ribs, chasing his orgasm. When he caught it, it crashed over him with such intensity, he unloaded more than he ever had in one fuck into Sherlock's arse and nearly blacked out.

Sherlock groans as he’s filled, panting.

John was shuddering for a few moments. He thought he'd never catch his breath again. He unfurled himself so he could canopy himself above Sherlock and kiss him as much as his bursting lungs could bear.

Sherlock kisses him back, looking dazed and blissed out.

John kissed him until he gave out and collapsed half atop him. "You wonder," he groaned

Sherlock wraps his arms around John, holding him loosely since all his strength went when he came.

"ok?" John asked

“You’re going to have to fuck me at least once a day until the end of time and even then I may get enough of you.” Sherlock mumbles, slurred.

John smiled. "So, it was alright?" He couldn't remember if Sherlock had mention whether he'd come before from penetrative sex. Or if he'd ever come untouched.

“Brilliant. It was brilliant. Your brilliant.” Sherlock pulls him in for another kiss.

John gathered him up and kissed him passionately. "I don't want to be without you," he stated frankly.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Sherlock kisses him back.

John tugged at his lips with his own. "When we leave. After the thaw. I want to be with you."

“Yes. Please.” Sherlock nuzzles him.

"You want that, too?" John asked, hoping to get a bit more out of him.

“Yes. Of course I do. I.. You said..” Sherlock blushes.

"What? What did I say?"

“You.. You said you love me and it made me come.”

John gave a raw snort of surprise. It wasn't like him to say such things, bit upon review of the sex he wasn't surprised at all. "Well, I'll be damned," he said softly. Then he grinned at Sherlock. "It made you come?"

“Yes. Probably the best orgasm of my life.” Sherlock blushes brightly, smiling shyly.

John couldn't contain the boyish smile that lit his face. "Uhm...." he huffed, before burying his face in Sherlock's neck unable to speak for a few moments

Sherlock grins and peppers John’s head with kisses.

John smashed his face into Sherlocks shoulder and squeezed him hard. "You said you have room in your flat?"

“Yes. It’s yours if you want it.” Sherlock says softly.

"Want you," John said, nuzzling all over him, giving in to the hopeless adoration he felt. "Christ, I want you." He crushed him in his arms, fingers digging into Sherlock's soft flesh as if he was going to be ripped away.

“You’ve got me. Always.” Sherlock nips at his lips gently.

John growled softly. He didn't know how he was going to make this work, with all accumulated threats against him. But he would find a way and he wouldn't burden his young lover with it; for as much hardship as he'd seen, in some ways Sherlock felt so young and naïve.

But they would be together, he decided, even if he had to kill governments. He couldn't help it. He was very much in love.


	6. Six

Two day later, John awoke having the whole thing sorted. Room for improvisation aside, John had developed a plan to extract himself from his current entanglements and make it out alive to live happily ever after with his new love. He felt revitalised and happy. He became even happier when he saw how well Sherlock's leg was healing as he gave him his morning bath. "After the hospital checks you out, you may be able to do with a cane in a week or so."

“Brilliant. Then it’s back to cases.” Sherlock grins.

John leaned in to kiss his shoulder as he washed his hair. "I may be gone a lot," he said, a bit wary. "But you'll have your cases to amuse you, yeah?"

“I’ll always be there when you get back.” Sherlock nuzzles him.

John smiled. "You won't get lonely?" John had a rather jealous streak that he didn't want Sherlock aware of just yet.

“You’ll just have to come back quickly before I get bored.” Sherlock nips at his jaw.

"You know I'll always try to," John said, giving him soft kisses. "I'll always try to."

“I know..” Sherlock relaxes against him.

"We can leave tomorrow. I have everything ready. How do you want to spend your last day, darling? You can have whatever you want."

“Mm you, me, and as many orgasms as we can manage.”

John chuckled softly. "How did I know you were going to say that?"  
He lifted Sherlock from the bathtub and helped him clamber out. Sherlock was getting quite good with his crutch but John still supported him on the way back to the bedroom, gently drying his wet body as they stumbled.

Sherlock smiles happily, pressing kisses to John’s skin as they make their way to the bed.

John sat him on the side of it and kissed him, his fingers in Sherlock's wet locks. "First week we have together at your flat, there will be no clothes rule," he kidded, making to remove his own.

“Obviously.” Sherlock pulls him in for a kiss.

Once John's shirt was unbuttoned, he pulled Sherlock against him to feel Sherlock's thin chest pressed against his own. He groaned into Sherlock's mouth and kissed him over.and over as he squeezed him up. He was about to tip him back onto the bed when he suddenly stopped and went still as prey. "Shh," he whispered.

Sherlock frowns as John stops, thinking another PTSD attack had been triggered.

John stayed like that for a full minute, utterly motionless, barely breathing. Then, fast as a rattlesnake, he snatched Sherlock's robe, then Sherlock himself as if he weighed nothing. He half ran into the kitchen where he kicked aside the rug and pulled open a trap door into an unfinished drop to cold hard earth. Into this, he unceremoniously managed Sherlock. "Stay there and keep absolutely silent until I come get you." After that, he dropped the hatch and locked it.

“John.” Sherlock frowns as the hatch is closed. He frowns and puts on his robe, shaking a bit from the cold.

After the hatch closed there was a solid ten minutes of Silence. Then all hell broke loose. It was impossible to distinguish anything specific as it all melded together in explosions of gunfire, pounding feet, men yelling. A few bullets went through the floor a few yards away from Sherlock, but the majority of the mayhem seemed focused on the living room of the cabin. Smoke started coming in through the floorboards, thick and choking. After that, there were a few scattered calls of men assessing the situation. Then eerie quiet, punctuated only by the occasional footstep. The one voice, loud and crisp shot through the stillness. "Where is my brother, Dr. Watson?"

“Shit..” Sherlock whispers and presses his face to his hands, recognizing the voice.

There was a sound of shifting feet above. "Sherlock?" Mycroft called. "come out, come out wherever you are, brother mine."

“I’m under the floor..” Sherlock sighs, knowing Mycroft would tear John’s cabin down to find him so he might as well keep the cabin intact.

Within moments, the trap was lifted and Sherlock was looking at his brother's face alone with those of several masked operatives. "Dear god, what happened to your leg? And why are you naked?"

“I’m not naked. I have a robe on.” Sherlock rolls his eyes.

"Help him up, lads," Mycroft sniffed and the men in black plucked him from the hole with little effort. The cabin was in ruins. Smoke and bullet holes everywhere. On his knees, in the center of the room, with his hands tied behind his back, poised for a formal execution, was John. His hair was matted with blood, as was the rest of him. At their feet were seven dead operatives.

“John!” Sherlock panics and crawls over to John, dragging his broken leg behind him.

The operatives weren't having that. They hoisted Sherlock in the arms before he could reach him. For his part, John didn't flinch, didn't even blink. "Take him to the helicopter," Mycroft demanded of the men holding Sherlock. "Get him straight to a hospital, I'll debrief him later. Ensure he remains unharmed."

“No! No!” Sherlock growls, clawing at the men, trying to get away.

The operatives, who had not spent the last four weeks on the sickbed made quick work of smuggling Sherlock into the helicopter waiting outside. The last thing he saw before he left the house was his brother's curious expression.

Sherlock screamed the whole time he was taken out. As soon as the helicopter door was shut he went silent, not saying a word.

Sherlock was taken to the hospital. He refused to speak or eat, being as difficult as possible to anyone and everyone. He missed John and he was worried sick about him. He was royally pissed at his brother for being such a pompous prick. Sherlock pushes the tray onto the floor each time he was brought food and scowled at them mercilessly.

Mycroft appeared one day after Sherlock's internment. He swept in, one hand encumbered with an umbrella, the other pocketed. "They tell me you're in unexpected good way despite the severity of your wounds," he said by way of introduction. "You'll be happy to know the doctor will release you tomorrow."

“Released to who?” Sherlock snapped, absolutely furious.

Mycroft blinked. "Well, to yourself, brother."

“I want him here. Now.” Sherlock hissed.

Mycroft crossed his legs demonstratively. "Yes. Him. I must apologize for the delay. We found your car, but it took weeks to find the cabin."

“Take your apology and shove it as far up your fat arse as possible until it comes out your overfed gullet.” Sherlock seethes.

Mycroft was clearly considering several lines of conversation before he came up with, "It was foolish and reckless of me to let you put yourself in that situation. I should have pulled you out from the start. But you were much further along in getting close to him than any of us had ever been. I got greedy and I endangered you."

“Bravo and fuck you very much. You used me and now you feel shitty about it. Well congratu-fuckin-lations. I haven’t heard from you in years BUT YOUR STILL CONTROLLING MY LIFE FROM BEHIND THE SCREEN LIKE SOME BALDING DICTATOR. BRING HIM HERE NOW OR IM GONE.”

Mycroft closed his eyes for the yelling. "Sherlock. You make little sense. Why don't you tell me everything from the start?"

“How about you tell me? Mm? Tell me how you thought it was perfectly fine to spy on me. Tell me how you found my wrecked car but decided it was best to leave. Tell me how you finding more information was better than my well being. Tell me how you know who he was and you still left me. Tell me how. Tell me!” Sherlock shouted, obviously everyone on the entire ward would hear him.

'Very well," Mycroft said, bringing his umbrella into his lap. "I owe you as much. It came to our attention that you were investigating John Watson a year ago. At first, I thought nothing of it. But then you excelled prodigiously. John Watson has information on no fewer than five certain countries that prove a threat to ours. He has the knowledge that could help us thwart countries, Sherlock. I know if I asked you for your help you would refuse and ensure that I was locked out of your findings. You left me no option but to follow you. You made such progress. What we never expected was for you to follow him to France. You had been long gone before we realized you had left. By the time we found your car, the blizzard had wiped out every trace as to where you might have been taken. I assure you no expense was spared in your recovery. That said, I deeply regret and bear all responsibility for what was done to you and reject or if you must, but Sherlock, I must assure you, I am deeply, profoundly sorry. I have seen him military report and we know he has a history of sexual misconduct and I can only pray you've been spared such a date," he paused only a second to allow Sherlock any sort of interjection and when it appeared nothing of the sort was forthcoming, Mycroft barrelled on, "You should never have been led to the whims of a madman and once we have extracted the information we require from him, we shall dispose of him in whatever manner you deem proper."

Sherlock rolls his eyes. “He shall be released into my custody. Within the hour. Or else.”

Mycroft suppressed a smirk, charmed by the threat. "We have not yet received the information we require. He is proving quite tight lipped, but that is to be expected, a man of his training." Mycroft cleared his throat delicately. "I understand you may have no desire to speak with me about what he did to you in that cabin, Sherlock. However, we have experts who can help people who have been..." He chose his words carefully, "held in extreme circumstances."

“Twenty minutes. You’re wasting time.” Sherlock rolls his eyes.

"You do understand you must talk with someone, of course," Mycroft said, ignoring his brother's idle threats. "I know how you are about debriefings with me, so I've arranged to have Agent Dartmoor come speak with you tomorrow before you're released. With the understanding that your release is contingent upon speaking with her."

“Oh Christ. You know that woman is lucky if she has two brain cells to rub together.” Sherlock rubs his hands over his face.”

"Aren't we all," Mycroft deadpanned. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I am required elsewhere." He rose. "It is good to see you, little brother. I regret our reunion came about under such circumstances."

“You’re the one who decided it to be this way.” Sherlock looks out the window.

An expression of genuine guilt overcame Mycroft's face and it stuck. He sat for a few moments, bearing the weight of his heavy frown and said, "I can never express to you how sorry I truly am." Then he dropped his umbrella to the floor and with the tap of its tip, he snapped out of it. "Again, the doctor will see you tomorrow and we have Baker Street prepared for your return. Do call if you need anything," was his parting remark before he swept through the door.

An hour later the head nurse calls Mycroft.

Mycroft answered his phone swiftly, "yes?"

“S-Sir. We umm.. We seem to have lost your brother. We can’t find him.” Her voice trembles.

Mycroft sighed. He anticipated this. It was exactly what he had expected his brother to do. "Thank you for telling me," he said, before hanging up on her and sending a text to the department that he had equipped with the CCTV system, a network of spies, electronic surveillance and all manner of resources, all just to keep a bead on his brother.

“Call off the dogs will you?” Sherlock sighs as he swans into Mycroft’s office, having stolen a crutch from the hospital. “Take me to John. Now.”

"I believe I was quite clear as to the coming days' itinerary."

“When have I ever given a shit about itinerary?” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “The basement, yeah?” He turns and walks towards the secret elevators.

Mycroft sighed. "Sherlock, sit down. I know you are as rebellious as you ever were, but here where the grownups work, we neither give in to petulant demands, nor leave the avenues to our important resources unguarded and open to the public. You won't reach him until you are allowed to. And if you wish to be allowed to, you must speak to Ms. Dartmoor. I shouldn't have to explain all this to you, Sherlock."

Sherlock flips him off and goes to the elevator, punching in the code from deducing the wear spots in the button. He steps into the elevator and leave back against the wall, pressing the basement button with his crutch.

Elevator was, of course, intercepted only one floor down, and Sherlock was taken promptly back to his brothers

Sherlock sighs as he’s dropped down in one of Mycroft’s office chairs. “Fine. Bring the doctor and I’ll talk to her.”

"Now?" Mycroft asked delicately.

“Now.” Sherlock nods.

Mycroft lifted his phone and sent a text. Within moments, a wheelchair was delivered to his room and Sherlock aggressively recommended to it as to avoid injuring himself further. Then Mycroft wheeled him to a small, rarely used sitting room. "She will be here in ten minutes. Can I get you anything? Tea?"

“Tea.” Sherlock sighs.

"Of course. And just a tip, Sherlock, the more liberal you are with information, the less painful it will be. Take care, little brother," he said, before whisking through the door.  
The tea was delivered and shortly thereafter, a formidably built woman with two black braids entered the room. She was dressed nearly bit wore nothing to distinguish her rank. She sat across from Sherlock with a smile and a notebook and said, "I'm Ms. Dartmoor."

“I apologize that you had to leave your sick cat. I know leaving something you care about in it’s time of need is never nice.” Sherlock nods, sitting his tea.

Her brown eyes widened in wonder. "How -- did your brother tell you about my cat?"

“No he did not. I deduced it. He likes to think he’s the smart brother and I frankly don’t have the energy to disprove him.” Sherlock shrugs.

Ms. Dartmoor laughed. "He told me to be careful, because you're the smart one. I'm beginning to suspect it might be a conspiracy between you two."

“Believe me were not close enough to have mutual conspiracies.” Sherlock sips his tea. “So how about you tell me why you’re here today?”

Ms. Dartmoor gamely answered, "Two reasons. Firstly, you were in close contact with a man in possession of very critical intel and I need to determine if you heard anything that could be of use to us. And secondly, I need to assess your mental health." She took a deep breath. "We all read the brief on Watson and your brother is very concerned for your well-being. He's afraid you're going to go back to using drugs."

“No and no. Are we done now?” Sherlock raises a brow.

"No," she said, smiling gently.

“I didn’t think so.” Sherlock sighs. “So what else is there to discuss? I honestly don’t know anything about John’s past really. I didn’t even know is last name until Mycroft told me it this morning. All I know is that he has severe trauma and PTSD which I’m sure being kidnapped by you lot is going swimmingly for him right now.” He rolls his eyes.

Dartmoor was unshakeable. "Tell me what happened, Sherlock."

Sherlock sighs. “I’m sure you read the file so I’ll spare you the boring parts. I followed a series of cases which I believe to be connected. Those connections lead me to France. It was snowing. Quite hard. The road I was driving on was deserted. I noticed a car following me. Catching up quickly. I must have hit a patch of black ice and lost control. Felt the car behind me hit me slipping on the ice as well. My car ended up in a ditch. I was in and out of consciousness for some time. When I awoke I was in a cabin being tended to by John.”

"He ran you off the road and then tended to you?"

“Would you like my story or would you like to put words in my mouth?” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “I slid on the ice because I didn’t have chains on the tires.”

"I see. And he...?"

“And he what? Took care of me for the past three possibly four weeks?”

"That's what I'm asking, yes."

“That’s what he did. Took care of me. Protected me. Actually listened to me.”

Dartmoor's face was a practiced non-reaction. "Do you have any idea why he would have done all that?"

“Because he finds me sexually attractive and intellectually stimulating. As I do him.” Sherlock nods.

Dartmoor resisted clearing her throat. "You had a sexual relationship with him?"

“Yes. Which was purely consensual on both our parts.” Sherlock makes that clear. “Uncomfortable yet?”

She gave him a patient smile. "Who instigated the relationship?"

“I don’t know. Probably me.”

"You didn't feel... that if you didn't engage with him sexually, there would be unpleasant consequences?"

“No. Never. In fact I initiated most of the sexual encounters.”

Dartmoor took a moment to scribble something on her notepad. "You're aware of the allegations against him? Did those come up?"

“Yes they did. He was hesitant to have sex with me because he thought I was experiencing Stockholm Syndrome. Which I’m sure is what you probably just made a note about.”

Dartmoor paused, properly caught out. "Simply because you are aware of Stockholm syndrome doesn't make you immune to it. I know about your past, Sherlock. About your abuse. You have the perfect mapping for someone to fall victim to a powerful man who... has uses for you."

“I understand. I also understand that in order to have Stockholm you need to trust the person. I don’t trust John. Not even a little bit. He’s a cold blooded murderer who could snap my neck in a minute without so much at flinching. He is a man with a very dark complicated psyche who was trained by our government on how to kill people. We did that. We should have seen that darkness in him. But we didn’t. We failed. And now he’s to be punished for the skills we gave him? What did we expect to happen? Churn out thousands of trained killers and not expect one to have an adverse reaction? New flash the number is actually very high but not one is wiling to talk about it and people like you are complicit in sweeping it under the rug. So you tell me do I have a rose colored glass view of the situation? Am I defending him illogically or irrationally? Am I not cooperating because you lot have made it my only choice? I’ll tell you something. If I have Stockholm syndrome from anyone it’s my brother. Who’s constantly watching, spying, creeping into my life, saying he’s doing good for me only to turn around and leave me with a serial killer I’m a cabin for weeks. If I don’t have Stockholm from Mycroft I don’t have it from anyone.”

Dartmoor narrowed her eyes and watched him closely. "What do you want, Sherlock?"

“I want two things. One I want Mycroft’s surveillance of my life to stop. Immediately. Two I want John released into my custody now. Your ignorant lot are probably doing more harm then good and I’m damn sure the only reason you’ve sat here talking to me so long is that you can get information out of me to use against him because he’s given you jack shit so far. I know you try and make the person your talking to feel special and cared about but you’re not an active listener. You’re passively listening for information you can use against John to crack him. At this point I’m not even sure you’re a licensed professional because you didn’t get my consent for this session and you didn’t tell me what organization you work for or where any of this information will be going. That’s all required by law. Believe me I’ve had sessions before with reputable psychiatrist who actually give a rats ass about the person they’re trying to care for. You on the other hand are a lackey with a pen. You’ve only written not even half a page of notes so far and I’ve given you enough to fill up that whole notepad. In fact I’m sure you’re just hear to placate me while they torture John. After you’re done with me your probably planning on going to the basement and telling him everything I said. In fact I know you are because you’re wearing a wire so I’m sure this whole conversation is playing live for John as we speak. You lot wanted to make it easier on yourselves. You couldn’t break him yourselves so you brought me in to do it. Release John Watson to me now and I’ll make sure he’s never a problem for any of you again. Oh and go tell my brother to go fuck himself with that umbrella of his while it’s extended.” Sherlock snaps, never taking a breath.

Dartmoor liked him and was trying not to show it. "Yes. The crown cares more about than the security of the nation than your feelings. You've got me there. But no, it isn't being live streamed to John. We may need to make him believe your life and well being is in danger, too, if that will get him to talk. In fact, were eager to determine exactly what your relationship was, just so we can possibly use it as leverage to make him talk. We really will stop at nothing to get at the information he has. Well. I wouldn't. But Mycroft won't actually let us do harm to you. You're unquestionably his weak spot.  
"But Sherlock, it seems that even though you don't trust this man to not put a bullet in you, you want the government to entrust him to you. That hardly makes sense. And secondly, you want Mycrofts surveillance out of your life, but you jolly well know that isn't going to happen if you have John with you, invaluable source of information that he is. So, demystify this for me: Are you actually the stupid brother or are you just as spoiled and delusional as Mycroft suggests you are?"

“You all are a pack of fucking life sucking vultures who are going to rot in hell.” Sherlock laughs. “You work for a machine that care not for anyone but it’s own self interest of perpetuating its own life. You are a cog in a machine what will chew you up and spit you out. Don’t you realize that as soon are you’re no longer useful you’re on a hit list? So how about you get off your fucking high horse and we have a real conversation.”

"I'd love that. What would you like to talk about?"

“Well I know you want to talk more about John but honestly I’m far too distracted to think about that when the most prevalent thing I can deduce about you is how badly you want to ride my brother’s cock and how irritated you are that he doesn’t give a pea brain like you the time of day.”

She batted her eyes like a demure lady. "I like powerful men who wield phallic objects. But you know what that's like."

“Oh Jesus now your trying to make a connection by likening us. Do you have a sick bag or shall I vomit directly onto the floor?”

" well, I think we'd both get a kick watching you sick on the floor, don't you?"

“God you’re boring. Are we done yet?”

"That depends. Are you done throwing your little tantrum? Or do you have more spleen to vent before we can get on to solving the issue?"

“And what’s the issue? You lot not being able to crack John?”

"Yes. We've already done so much. The waterboarding didn't really phase him, but I thought we had him with the 50 volts."

Sherlock rolls his eyes. “So what do you want from me?”

"Anything he said. Did you get him to open up? What did he talk about? How much did he share with you? Did he say anything about who he worked for or what he did for them? His life back home? Did he really care about you or did he just fuck you? What did you two decide to do upon return? Why didn't he just kill you?"

“Very little. He’s very private. Every time I’d ask him something personal he’d deflect and change the subject. I don’t know if he cared. He’s very well trained. He was going to bring me back and drop me at a hospital. I don’t know. It would have been much simpler for him to kill me. I guess he found me interesting.”

"and why do you want him released into your custody?"

“Because he’s interesting and not once whole I was with him I thought of getting high.”

Dartmoor nearly smacked her notebook on her face to hide her chuckling. "A pet," she snorted. "You want to keep him as a pet." She dropped her notebook to her lap again and began scribbling. "I'm recommending to your brother that he buy you a goldfish and there's an end to it."

“If I keep him as a pet he’ll be to busy to cause trouble for the rest of you.” Sherlock smirks, knowing they want John out of the way as soon as possible since he’s more trouble than he’s worth.

"Or we could just kill him if he doesn't talk. Or if he does "

“And I’ll go back to drugs. Everyone wins.” He shrugs.

Dartmoor nodded sadly. Then she instantly popped up with a patronisingly put on show of inspiration. "Or!" She enthused. "There's another way! Stop lying to me and give us what we need to crack him. I don't know what you're hiding, but your story doesn't shore up, and what's more, I'm not sure who you think you're protecting."

Sherlock sighs and picks at the dirt under his nails. “I’m done. You can go now.”

"Very well," she sighed and rose. "Enjoy the skag. I hear it's particularly potent this time of year."

“I do enjoy our talks. They’re always particularly mind numbing.”

 

Sherlock was taken to his flat and left to stew. After a few days of planning he went back to where they were holding John and broke in.

When the CCTV cameras went still, there was no use not taking advantage of it. And that the security was lax did seem like an invitation, but there's always that old proverb about looking gift horses in the mouth.  
John's cell was a cement room bisected by a floor to ceiling wall to wall bullet proof glass. John's half consisted of a small cot, sink, toilet, and a chair and desk combo that faced the glass.  
As for the man himself, he was curled into a ball against the far wall. He wore a thin ensemble that reflected hospital scrubs, but little else of him was visible since the dim and flickering fluorescent lights didn't reach that far back.

Sherlock slowly crept into the room, having slipped past security. “John.” He whispers, standing in front of the glass.

John's head snapped up. It was difficult to tell from so far away but there seemed to be only one eye glittering in the dark. He said nothing, nor made any further movement.

“It’s me, John. I’ve broken in. Do you know where the entrance is? How do I get you out?” Sherlock looks around the glass, hobbling over to the walls for any kind of keypad.

John frowned and very slowly, he rose. To move looked incredibly painful, but he skirted the perimeter of the light to get a better look at Sherlock. "If you touch that, the alarm will sound," he intoned.

“How do they get you in and out then?” Sherlock frowns deeply, seeing how hurt John is.

John twitched, uncomfortable. "What are you doing here?"

“I’m getting you out.” Sherlock’s searches the room.

John's head tipped to the angle of skepticism. "Oh, are you?" He turned his back on Sherlock, then, and shuffled carefully over to the bed.

“I am. I know they’ve been trying to crack you and torture you.” Sherlock frowns, crawling on the floor to find a seal.

"Yes," John said, curling into the thin mattress. "*they* have."

“I’m sorry.” Sherlock frowns and starts picking at a loose piece of the seal.

John stayed where he was, curled to the wall. If the man wanted to go through his little charade, John wouldn't be the one to stop him. He also knew that security tanks such as this would never be so shoddily made so as to be taken apart by bare hands. The gesture would have amused him if he weren't so damn tired.

“John, you know I’m my current state I wouldn’t be able to get in here. They made it easy on me. They’re still hoping I can crack you. So tell me what to do and I’ll do it.” Sherlock pulls strips of the sealant off the floor.

John scoffed and threw his hands up like a person who couldn't be bothered with nonsense.

“Captain, were balls deep in enemy territory and if we don’t get our shit together we’re dead. So what do we do?” Sherlock frowns, close to pulling his hair out to keep his hands busy.

"What the bloody hell do you want me to say, Sherlock? Or whatever the hell your name may really be. Really. Sherlock. Stupid bloody name. Just let me rest, I'm not interested in doing this with you."

“Ah they went with the making you think everything you know about me is fake route. Classic and effective. With me they tried to make it seem like I was your victim and I’d be helping myself recover if I just gave them information on you.” Sherlock sighs and stands on the crutch he stole from the hospital. “The longer I’m here the more likely you are to stay something they can use against you so I should go.”

John just snorted.

“Goodbye, John. I’m sorry we couldn’t sail away together.” Sherlock says softly as he leaves.

Before he was through the door, John snapped suddenly, " l was on to you from the start, you know! I mean, I just forgot it... Probably somewhere between your thighs."

“I was honest with you about everything. You’re the one who decided to get attached to a junkie who hunts down murderers. Stop talking because you say something and they hurt you worse.” Sherlock stills, his hand frozen as it reaches for the door handle.

"They hurt me when I don't talk, Sherlock, not when I do," John grumbled, unable to keep himself from picking him up on that point.

Sherlock sighs and frowns, turning to face the glass. “Then talk. If you don’t they’ll keep hurting you and eventually it will probably kill you. If you do then they’ll probably let you go.”

John sighed. Even knowing that Sherlock had manipulated and lied to him, hearing his voice was so good. even though he was being manipulated and lied to right now, he wanted to keep listening to that voice that still tugged at his heart. "Was any of it real?" He asked, still curled.  
"The drugs? The bad boyfriend? The history of horrible sex?" Then he muttered, more to himself than anything, "That part really got me the most, the history of unfulfilling sex."

“It was all true. I never lied to you. Except for when I told you your scrambled eggs were the best I ever had.” Sherlock smiles softly.

John knew what they were doing. He knew that sending Sherlock to him would soften him up, make him weak, you're in for the false hope of a future with him. Problem was, it was working. Sherlock was the perfect honey pot before they had captured John, and he was the perfect honey pot now.the first few days of his imprisonment, John had been properly furious. He swore to himself that the first life he would take as soon as he was free would be Sherlock's. But having the man before him now, John's anger dissolved and he simply felt sad and heartbroken.  
"How dare you," John grunted.

“What am I supposed to do?” Sherlock frowns.

"Christ, Sherlock," John huffed, gouging the heel of his fists into his eye sockets. " I presume your brother sent you down here with some sort of bargain. You're the Good Cop, obviously. So, what? They just want my Russian contacts? My Kosovar contacts? Then they'll stop the torture? Or let me guess, I give up both of them and I get a full day off of torture and even a pity shag from you. C'mon. What do you have for me?"

“I broke in by myself. No one sent me.” Sherlock frowns.

John scrubbed at his eyebrow with the pad of his thumb. He sighed a few times. Then he rose and shuffled over to the glass, into the light.  
It was impossible to tell if his left eye was gone or just badly swollen over. He had lost weight and bruises were visible. Where they'd put the electric clamps on him were fresh. All of his abuses were eligible to someone who didn't even have Sherlock's keen eye. He crooked a finger at Sherlock to get him closer. "I want to look at you."

Sherlock hobbled over to the glass and nearly cried as he sees John. “I’m so sorry..” He whispers even though he knows it’s not his fault.

John surveyed him. He seemed pleased with the work done on Sherlock's leg. Then he stared into Sherlock's eyes, looking for something.

Sherlock looked John over, seeing each bruise and cut. “I’m getting you out.” He leans against the glass and holds up his crutch. He takes apart the metal bits. He takes the screw and starts gouging at the glass.

John put his hand over where Sherlock was futilely efforting. "Sherlock," he said, "youre the brother of the fucking head of all English intelligence. If you actually wanted to get me out of here, you wouldn't need a fucking screw. Although it bloody adorable watching you try."

“Considering he’s trying to have me institutionalized I don’t think anything I say would help.” Sherlock grumbles. “He had been talking to a so called doctor. She scribbled down that she thinks I need to be locked up for my own.. Safety.” Sherlock rolls his eyes.

John snorted. "Right. Because I'm the caretaker. So you think I'm going to sick up all the information your brother wants so I can come running to pamper your spoiled arse? And be grateful for the opportunity to do it before some Serb puts a bullet in my head? That's patronising, Sherlock, you can do better than that."

“You’re the one that’s a doctor so you can’t put the whole caretaker business on me.” Sherlock huffs.

John rolled his eyes and was about to retort, but he stopped himself. He clenched his jaw and locked his eyes shut for several seconds.  
He was arguing with Sherlock like they were back in the cabin. He was falling under Sherlock's spell again and forgetting what was really going on here.  
"I care nothing for you," he growled once he'd gotten a hold of himself. "I don't care what happens to you and I know you're bloody lying. You've lied to me and manipulated me, and I hate you and I don't give a shit if your brother just fucking shoots me, I'm not bloody talking."

“You’re suicidal ideations are getting out of hand.” Sherlock rolls his eyes.

"I'm no suicidal, you little shit," John snapped. "Maybe if youd peek outside of that narcissistic bubble you live in, you'd see that I'm in a bit of a corner and my options are seriously fucking limited!"

“Because you’ve put yourself in this fucking situation! Stop blaming me and everyone else for your problems! Take some responsibility for your fucking life and the choices you make!” Sherlock snaps back. “Not only have you fucked yourself over but you’ve done it to me too.”

"Yes I do bloody blame you for this problem, you lying, manipulative little whore!!" John roared. "The only mistake I made, the only bloody mistake I fucking made was not putting a fucking bullet in your head after I ran you off the fucking road! That is the only choice I made that put me in here!! Don't you dare get bloody sanctimonious with me for saving your bloody life! I wish I hadn't! Then I never would have taken you to my cabin, cared for you healed you, and fallen in fucking love with you while the whole time you were plotting like a bloody reptile to hand me over to your fucking brother, don't you dare fucking out this on me, you've done enough bloody damage!"

“You’re the one that ran me off the fucking road in the first place! For the past fucking month everything that happened why your fault. You’re the murderer. If you didn’t assassinate people I wouldn’t have follows you. If I didn’t follow you I wouldn’t have been in France. IF I WASNT IN FRANCE YOU WOULDNT HAVE RUN ME OFF THE ROAD. NONE OF THIS IS MY FUCKING FAULT YOU PSYCHO!” Sherlock screams at him. “It’s not my fault. Shit happens to me. I deal with the hand I’m given. You wreaked my car and I played nice so you wouldn’t kill me. I was interesting so you didn’t kill me. I was brilliant so you wouldn’t kill me. You are my kidnapper. Fuck you. I’m the victim. How dare you try and tell me any of this is my fucking fault? You’re the one going around and killing people. You’re the one sexually assaulting fellow soldiers. You’re the one kidnapping people. You are the fuck up here. Not me.” Sherlock hisses. “And you are fucking suicidal, you utter twat. Why do you think you play this game? So you can go out in a blaze of glory because you didn’t in the army. Because your disgraced yourself. Because you are one dark son of a bitch but you try to play this knight in shining armor. Sorry to burst your prideful bubble, Lancelot, but you pissed your pathetic life away.” He rants. “I can’t believe I let you fuck me. I really should have just shot you that first night. Would have made the world a better fucking place. Getting rid of a scum bag like you. Maybe my brother has a fucking point despite how sickening that is to say. You’re a stain. It’s incredible to see that you think you have any moral high ground here. You should be studied and dissected like a lab rat. Cut layer by fucking layer to see what makes that psychotic brain of yours tick. I’m so sick of coddling you. Your a grown fucking man. Grow a pair and either give up the information or die. I’m sick of this and I’m sick of you.” He puts his crutch back together and heads for the door.

"So, that's who you really are then," John muttered to himself. "Not terribly nice to fucking meet you."

“Yes this is me. The man you nearly killed. Multiple times. Either with a gun, a knife, or your hands around my throat. Don’t worry. I know you didn’t mean it. Or do I? It’s really hard to tell whether or not your fully there because you’re never in your right mind. I did what I had to do to survive but never once did I lie to you. I haven’t talked to my brother in years and now thanks to you my life is fucked again. Thanks to you my leg will never be right again. Thanks to you I’ll have a fucking limp for the rest of my fucking life. Thanks to you I know for sure now that caring is not an advantage. All thanks to you. So fuck you very much and I never want to see you again.” Sherlock slams the door as he leaves the room.

Mycroft sat in his office, more confused than ever. The laptop in front of him provided the audio and video for Sherlock's encounter with their captive, and yet it shed no light on the situation, and certainly provided no intel on foreign powers.  
Mycroft was miserable. Only when his brother was involved did he ever feel so far behind and so clueless as to what to do next. They were already running out of options with Watson and his intuition told him sending in Sherlock did more harm than good -- to both of them.

Sherlock hobbled up to Mycroft’s office and opens the door without asking. “I want all of John’s files. He’s obviously not going to tell you anything no matter how hard you beat him. I think at least four of his fingers are broken. No more beatings. I fucking figure it out since you and your lackeys are relying on a man with years of training in torture and espionage to crack by the musings of idiots.” He huffs and sits.

Mycroft didn't even pause to blink before he opened his desk drawer with a key, and from it retrieved an embarrassingly thin folder. He placed this on the desk and asked gently, "Might I inquire what you plan to do with it? The last time you had a wild hair and tangled with John Watson on your own, you ended up on quite the predicament." His brow clouded, "Still unclear on what that predicament was, but I can only infer you didn't like it."

“This is it? All of it? His entire military career? I’m sure the incident report on the man he assaulted is at least three times as thick as this.” Sherlock sighs and reads through it. “He hit my car, I went into a ditch, broke my femur and whacked my head pretty good, did what I had to do not to die, and everything sexual that happened I consented to. Any other questions?”

Carefully, Mycroft asked, "What do you intend to do with this information?"

“I intend to get the information for you so you let John go. I think you’ve done enough damage. To all of us.” Sherlock sighs.

"Why do you want me to let John go?" Mycroft asked.

“Because he’s doing part of you job for you, isn’t he? Takin out other political leaders who take the piss. Then you’re in the clear to manipulate who ever and whatever you want. Everything just always works out for you.” Sherlock rolls his eyes.

"none of that explains why you want him free. or while you're willing to do all of this work to set him free, which looks an awful lot like you doing my job for me. listening to that conversation just now, you certainly seem like you wouldn't shed a tear if we shot him in the head."

“Because I like him, alright? And everyone knows I make shit decisions when it comes to people I like.”

This was clearly what Mycroft found so troubling. He glanced at the screen where the feed from John's cell was still live. "And if we received the information we need and IF we decided to let him live, would you attempt to contact him?"

Sherlock sighs and rubs his hand over his face. “When I was with him I didn’t think of getting high. At all. Not even when I was in so much pain I could vomit from it.”

"And yet you just expressed to him-- what was it? You played nice so he didn't kill you, were interesting so he didn't kill you, etcetera. Surely we can find ways to keep you off smack that don't involve exposure to a man you feared would kill you."

“I chase murders for fun. Give me a fucking break.”

"I don't see how that correlates to wanting this man in your life."

“Because he took out a hand full of your agents by himself in thirty seconds. If anyone could keep me safe he could. I need an assistant.”

Mycroft closed his eyes against the onset of a headache. "After that little row, how can you be sure he'd even want to--" but he was cut off by John's voice coming through the feed of his laptop. "Alright," John shouted to the men he knew were listening. "I'll talk! I'll talk!"  
Mycroft composed several rapid fire texts, then went incredibly still.

“And you think you’re the smart one.” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Let me go talk to him.”

"After the experts, Sherlock. You do realize this will take some time, don't you? Even if he cooperates? Days. Weeks, perhaps." But then he softened, taking in Sherlock's haggard state. "I... I suppose I might let you see him after the initial conference. But this... This cannot go awry, Sherlock. Do you understand?"

“Fine.” Sherlock sighs. “He’s mostly concerned about the Serbs it sounds. He brought them up when he was irritated. When he’s mad he doesn’t think about what he’s saying and whatever he’s most worried about slips out.”

Mycrofts eyebrows lifted slightly. "Thank you, Sherlock. You have been... Most useful." He opened his mouth and then immediately snapped it shut on whatever else he was going to say. When he spoke again, it was clearly a different topic than he intended. "Come first thing tomorrow morning. You two shall breakfast together."

“Apparently I’ve always been useful. Whether I’ve known it or not.” Sherlock sighs and stands. “Send a car to pick me up. And thinking about what it was you were really going to say. I’ll want to hear it tomorrow.” He closes the door as he leaves.

The car arrived for Sherlock at 7am sharp the next morning. He was escorted into the building and to John's chamber where the man was sat at his little table picking at the sickliest looking eggs.

“Well those are disgusting.” Sherlock sighs as he sits, looking at the eggs.

John cleared his throat. "Good morning," he said. "Did you already eat?"

“No. I’m not fond of eating.” Sherlock shrugs.

John smirked at him. "Yeah, you've lost weight."

“I don’t think I’ve eaten since the cabin.” Sherlock hums.

John's eyes trailed over him as he chewed. "Why's that?"

“I only ate because you made me.” Sherlock pokes at the eggs. “And because the sex made me hungry.”

John nodded. He sat back from where he was hunched and clearly had no idea what to say. When he spoke, it was forced. "Your flat... It's... Everything in order?"

“It’s fine yeah.” Sherlock nods. “How about you say what you actually want to say? You’re so tense the muscles in your neck look about ready to pop.”

John took the note. He cleared his throat and rocked his head on his shoulders to ease the tension. "There's nothing I particularly..." He trailed off. "Your brother... We talked a bit. He said you didn't have anything to do with... He said you didn't know." The warmth that had been in John's eyes in the cabin was gone, and in its place was a hawkish survivalism that he turned unerringly onto Sherlock.

Sherlock frowns. “Why the hell would he come talk to you? He thinks he’s to good for leg work. What did you tell him?”

John shrugged. "He came to talk to me about you. I didn't say much."

“What did he say then?” Sherlock huffs, crossing his arms ready to have a proper sulk.

John caught the attitude and didn't understand where it came from. "Well. As I said, he insisted you were innocent. And he insisted I don't upset you when you came for breakfast." He had also mentioned that John shouldn't mention the conversation, but since he was signing his death warrant, he had little concern for trivialities.

“He’s always so meddlesome.” Sherlock sighs.

"I think he really cares about you."

“He has the strangest way of showing it.” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “So did you crack?”

"Yes," John said, licking his teeth.

“What’s the deal you got? For talking.”

"They let me go. That's what they say." Of course, he'd be dead in a week. The Kosovar's probably already knew of his betrayal and their hitmen were no doubt on their way to London.

“You didn’t demand protection? You’re giving vital information. The ball is in your court. You can make them do whatever you want.”

John cleared his throat. "That was... Discussed." He seemed very awkward about it.

“And did you?” Sherlock frowns.

"No," John said, staring at a point beyond Sherlock's shoulder. "He stipulated that if I wanted his protection, I would have to remain in your custody."

“Ah for fuck sakes.” Sherlock rubs his hands over his face. “So you’d rather be dead than be stuck with me? Well good luck.” He stands, his chair getting knocked backwards at the force.

"That's not what I said," John frowned.

“Either you’re let out and you’re assassinated. Or you stay with me. Those are your options. Death or me. You picked death.”

"Sherlock," John leaned forward. "Relax," he said gently. "I'm the one with my head on the chopping block, not you. You don't have to be so defensive. We talked discussed it. I don't know if I ... I wasn't sure I could accept those terms. I wanted to talk to you first."

Sherlock frowns. “Why wouldn’t you protect yourself?”

"I can protect myself pretty well on my own as you saw." He shrugged. "It would be a greater risk, but if you recall, I was planning on extracting myself from all this when we were  
... daydreaming in the cabin. But yes, your brother's protection is better." He glanced up at Sherlock. "Did he talk to you about me being... He said something about being your ... assistant?" He was choosing his words carefully.

“Yes. We talks a bit.” Sherlock nods.

"And the idea... It doesn't... You're not put off by it?"

“No. Why would I be put off by something I suggested?”

"You suggested it?" John asked, agog.

“I did. Why wouldn’t I?” Sherlock raises a brow.

"Everything you said yesterday ..."

“I was angry and you were acting like a jerk. Which is understandable since circumstances but I was still hurt by it.” He shrugs. “Just because I was mad doesn’t mean I don’t want you around. Quite the opposite..”

John's jaw, which had been hanging rather gormlessly, snapped shut. "Ahhhh," he intoned as he tried to think. He had been functioning under the belief that Sherlock had meant all that he said and he was only realising now how much it had effected him -- to the point where he had cracked and talked. He put a hand over his face.

“I want you safe and unhurt. I’m sorry if what I’ve done seems like lying or deception. But.. After I saw you last night I knew you wouldn’t break. I knew my brother would have no problems torturing you till you died. I can’t let you die. You saved me from myself and I had to do the same for you. I’m.. I’m sorry.”

John hid a moment longer before looking up at the ceiling and clearing his throat. "So you didn't hate it... With me... In the cabin?"

“I’d go back in a heartbeat if I could.” Sherlock looks down at his hands. “I’d go stir crazy and we’d have to leave at some point but I loved it. Loved being there with you.”

John wasn't sure what to believe, but he knew what he wanted to believe -- that this was the truth, the Mycroft told the truth. "It's not some turnabout is it? Get me into your apartment and give me hell? I mean," he snorted, "that would be... You'd have every right to."

“Of course not. But being my assistant won’t be easy. Staying up for days on end, being subject to my moods, violin at all hours of the day or night, body parts in the fridge, experiments in every viable surface, chasing down bad guys, and possible defending my life if it comes to it which it does more often than not.”

John nodded along with him. "Yes, I do remember you mentioning those things..." He leaned back in his chair. "And us? We would be...?"

“Whatever we want.” Sherlock shrugs. “We could be strictly professional or.. You could bend me over and fuck me on every piece of furniture in the flat.”

John closed his eyes. "If your brother put this on offer when he first snatched me, I could have avoided a lot of suffering." Of course, he wouldn't have believed it, but it was a nice thought.

“So will you become my assistant and fuck me at every opportunity?” Sherlock smirks.

John rubbed his good eye. The other was healing and he was starting to see out of it again. "Yes," he said softly. "If that's what you want. If you're ok with it. If your brother comes through on it."

“He will. I’ll make sure he does.” Sherlock nods.

John nodded back. "I reckon that's settled, then..." He said and crossed his arms over his chest in a hug. "Are we... ever going to talk about it? That fight? What we said?"

“I guess.” Sherlock shrugs.

"we don't have to. I mean, not right now, just. Some day." He could see that Sherlock wasn't receptive and John didn't want to push him. "I am going to insist you start eating again. Even if you don't like my eggs."

“Okay.” Sherlock nods. “I suppose. I like tea and biscuits.”

John actually managed a smile. "I will make you tea and biscuits. And scampi. My god, my scampi is wonderful."

“You’re going to make me fat.” Sherlock chuckles a bit. “Then maybe Mycroft and I will look like siblings.”

"I don't think you'll ever be fat, Sherlock," John said, smiling still. He was about to make another comment when guards appeared, ready to take Sherlock back to his apartment.

Sherlock sighs. “I suppose breakfast is over..”

John rose. "When will I see you again?"

“When Mycroft approves I suppose. Your investigation should be done by the end of the week and you’ll be free to go.”

"Oh, really? You make it sound so simple," John said, amused. "What will you do until then?"

“Wait for you.” Sherlock smirks and swans out.


	7. Seven

By the end of the week, John was beat. He felt like he'd lost at least 10 years of his life. before he was released into the custody of the agents take him to Sherlock's, he had to face off with Mycroft one more time. Boy, had that been an interesting conversation.  
Despite his fatigue, as he traveled through the Streets of London, he couldn't stop staring at the sights all around him. He could already feel he was being hunted.  
He arrived at Sherlock's flat with nothing in hand. he'd been promised that whatever he would need would be brought to him and he was not allowed to return to his own flat. He dearly missed his arsenal of weaponry.  
The kitty woman that opened the door was charming and refreshing and introduced herself as Mrs. Hudson. Then she hurried him upstairs with the promise that she would be bringing tea shortly. This left John standing in the living room of Sherlock's flat. "Uh. Hello?"

“Kitchen.” Sherlock hums, bent over a microscope.

The floorplan was unintuitive, but John couldn't help but feel himself settle into the funky space. He was afraid it was going to be hyper modern, all glass and metal. He already felt himself drawn to the chairs by the fire.  
"Hello?" he asked again, drifting into the kitchen and realising this is where Sherlock kept the nightmare.

“Seems like you’ve made it unharmed.” Sherlock notes. “Mrs. Hudson will be back with tea. If she hasn’t informed you already there’s two bedrooms if we’ll be needing two. Her subtle way of hinting I’m gay and she thinks you’d be good for me.”

"Right," John said, way more interested in what Sherlock was doing with his microscope. "What are you looking at there?"

“Ash.” Sherlock nods. “Want a look?”

"Ah, no, thanks..." There was something that looked like viscera on the counter. A jar of eyeballs as well. Out of morbid curiosity, he opened the fridge and immediately shut it it on the decapitated head staring back at him. "Oh, dear." He huffed, his conversation with Mycroft resurfacing in his mind.

“Don’t worry. I’m just borrowing him.” Sherlock hums.

"Right." He turned and surveyed the man at the Microscope. The light from the lenses reflected into his eyes, making them almost white. "Hey," he said, "leave off that for a second."

Sherlock stills for a moment before unwinding himself from around the microscope. He slowly turns towards John.

John took a look at him. My God, he was skinnier and he still had that standoffish look John had seen in the cell. He looked like he might be nervous. But he still very much liked looking at him. Very carefully, John reached out and took his hand. "Hi," he said. "I'm starving," he wasn't, he was sleepy. "Come have lunch with me? Your brother gave me a card. It has an astronomical limit."

Sherlock smiles a bit, relaxing some. “Well if there’s one thing I enjoy is maxing out his credit.” He has been incredibly nervous. He had picked different spots all around the flat posing and working on what he was going to say when John came in. After working himself into quite the fit he plopped down in front of the microscope to relax. He hadn’t meant to be there when John arrived but he lost track of time.

"Good," John gave his hand a squeeze. "Hopefully, by the time we get back, they'll have brought my stuff around." He had reviewed intel with the government's agents. They told him he would get text updates regarding potential threats. Contingency plans had been discussed at length and John was pretty shocked by how devoted they were to his safety. He couldn't help but think that all of it had to do with Mycroft wish for his brother's well-being. The countermeasures the man had implemented were far reaching. John felts now more than ever that they may be able to pull this off. At least, he felt certain enough to go have a cup of coffee with this man who was going to henceforth be his world.

“I’ll get dressed then.” Sherlock smiles and goes to get dressed, having been in a robe and pajamas. He comes out in a tight button up and tighter trousers. “Ready?” He asks as he pulls his suit jacket on.

"Yeah" John said, taking him in. He'd never seen him dressed well, for civilization. He'd cut him out of the clothes he'd been wearing when the car had crashed, and then it was nothing but a bathrobe for weeks. Even during their visit in the cell, Sherlock had looked unkempt. "You... You look breathtaking."

Sherlock blushes and promptly gets stuck in his jacket as his brain short circuits.

John helped him into it, pulling him close and helping him with the zip. "Ok," John said, rolling his eyes at himself and this silly high school feeling. "Um. Where are we going? This is your neighborhood. Any good cafés?"

“Umm yeah.” Sherlock nods, finding it a bit hard to concentrate with John so close.

"Well, let's go. C'mon." As they were leaving, they crossed Mrs Hudson coming up with the tea. John was immediately embarrassed. "Oh, Mrs Hudson! So sorry about the tea, I just, ah, thought Sherlock could use a bit of feeing up and he's got nothing in, really, so I do apologize. Perhaps we can have a nightcap this evening and chat a bit." if there was one thing he learned, it was that it was always good to have the landlady on your side.

“Oh of course, dear. I tell him all the time that he’s so skinny but he never listens.” Mrs. Hudson smiles, happy Sherlock’s found someone who will take care of him.

After they'd said their farewells and were on the street walking, John said, "She seems very nice." Then, after a beat, "You have a lot of people that care about you."

“Mrs. Hudson never asks anything of me. Well except the rent and she’s very lenient on that as well.” Sherlock smiles softly.

John nodded. "She was giddy that you have a potential flatmate." John found himself momentarily envious that he had spent the last few years of his life with no one fussing over him.

“Did she do the “If you’ll be needing two rooms” thing?” Sherlock chuckles.

"Yes. And she mentioned she's a heavy sleeper and was into some kooky stuff when she was young. All within speaking to her for less than thirty seconds. Awfully presumptuous woman," he said, although he was smiling.

“Oh god.” Sherlock laughs. “She takes her herbal soothers as well and she’s out like a light.” He chuckles.

John pressed the tip of his tongue to his upper lip. "Did she know Sebastian?" he asked carefully, wondering if it was too soon to assume such intimacy. They were still so wary of each other.

Sherlock frowns a bit and nods. “She’s the one that put me back together..”

"Oh!" John exclaimed, truly impressed. "Help you kick the cocaine habit as well? I mean..." He shook his head. "None of my business. You don't have to answer that. This the place?" he nodded to a charming little bistro and held the door open for Sherlock.

“This is it.” Sherlock nods and goes inside, sitting at a table. “Her husband was a.. Crime lord? Apparently he ran all kinds of contraband over boarders. She has experience wrangling the most dangerous of men.”

"But could she handle you?" John snarked, hoping he wasn't snarking too hard too early.

“She handcuffed me to the bedpost for three days while I dried out. Somehow she managed to find a pair of cuffs I couldn’t get out of.” Sherlock chuckles.

John knew that what his imagination provided of Sherlock handcuffed to a bed was probably not at all like the reality of Sherlock handcuffed to the bed. He cleared his throat and looked down at the menu until the lust cleared.

“So you’re interested in bondage.” Sherlock chuckles as he looks at the menu. “Not personally but dealers choice.” The waiter smiles, having heard what Sherlock said as he walked up.

"Uh," John was bug eyed a moment before he made his order. After the waiter left, John straightened all of his silverware from left to right and said, "I, well, since it came up, I was thinking maybe we should hold off on the sex."

Sherlock raises a brow. “Why?”

"So we can be sure it's what we want. Things got pretty confusing there, wouldn't you say?"

“I suppose..”

John lifted his eyebrows. "I thought we might date. You know, like normal people."

“Oh.” Sherlock blushes brightly, having thought that he’d provide the danger John need as well as sex and that would be it. “Dating is umm.. Good. Yeah good.”

"Are you sure? You just went pink."

“I just umm.. I thought that cases and sex were enough. I didn’t think you’d actually consider a real relationship.”

John considered him. "Do you want a relationship? Or, do you want to see if it could work?"

“Well I don’t know. Doesn’t dating mean a relationship?” Sherlock frowns, thoroughly confused now.

John furrowed his brow. "You know, it's been a long time for me, I guess I'm not entirely clear on it either. I suppose dating is the time you take to figure out if you want to make it official -- call each other boyfriends and that." Then he frowned. "Well, now, that doesn't sound right."

Sherlock thinks for a bit. “Partners?”

"that sounds better, but I suppose we can figure it out when we want to become... That. Whatever it is."

“Okay.” Sherlock nods.

John gave him a small smile. When the food came, John asked him about his experiments and only punctuated the conversation now and again with a reminder for Sherlock to eat.

Sherlock babbles on about his experiments. He talked about the ones he has currently, the ones Mrs. Hudson made him get rid of, his past ones, and the ones he’s planning in the future. He manages to eat a good half if his portion, a good attempt on his part.

When the check came, John snagged it and nodded to Sherlock's plate to request a box. "Of course, we're going to have to find a place in the kitchen for food, you know. I can't live on chemical fumes like you do."

Sherlock thinks. “I get the bottom shelf in the freezer, the bottom shelf in the fridge, a crisper drawer and the meat drawer. You can have the rest.”

John let out a bark of laughter. "You've thought about this."

“A bit.” Sherlock blushes a bit and smiles.

"That's... Good. That's good. Mind if we pop round to the shops before we go back? I won't be a minute." He planned to pick up the essentials as well as the few things he knew Sherlock to be amenable to.

“Mm alright.” Sherlock nods, not having been to any shops in quite some time so he needed to update some information in his mind palace.

John was as remarkably efficient at shopping as he was at everything else. By the time they got back to the flat, the front stoop was packed with three small boxes of John's things.

“Looks like you’re moving in. Mrs. Hudson will be please.” Sherlock chuckles, leaving John to carry everything up because he needed every bit of balance he could spare to get up the stairs and because he didn’t want to carry anything.

The boxes were light and small, but it was still a bit awkward. John knew then that Sherlock was going to get a lot of leverage out of that leg. When they were in the flat, John asked awkwardly, "So, where do I put these?" He didn't know what was where.

“Well my room is there.” Sherlock points through the kitchen as he lays on the couch. “Or your room, if you choose to accept it, is upstairs.” He points up, playing on those silly spy movies.

John smirked, appreciative. "I should probably start up there, don't you think?" he asked gently, carefully navigating his way up the stairs.  
The room didn't look prepared for use. It looked forgotten and dusty. Still, there was a single bed with a mattress he could make acceptable and a dresser that only wanted a hammer and nails. The dresser rod had collapsed, but he could fix that, too.  
Satisfied, he retrieved the groceries and looked down at Sherlock on the sofa. "Want to help me reorganize things or do you trust me to do it?"

“Mm I’ll help.” Sherlock gets up, not wanting John to throw out any experiments.

John was grateful for that. He had a feeling it would take some grit and cunning to shift Sherlock out of his spoiled kitty lifestyle. They worked quietly and easily and John found that even here, they had a natural, easy sympatico with each other.

Sherlock moves his experiments around and makes sure nothing important gets tossed.

Once everything was put away, John asked, "This is awkward and feel free to say no, but can I look at your leg?"

“Yeah okay. Let me umm go out on shorts.” Sherlock nods.

John smiled. Sherlock was walking well. It no doubt pained him and John had seen it flare up, but he had high hopes for recovery.

Sherlock soon comes back with shorts on.

John sat down on the sofa and patted the spot next to him. He had a jar of coconut oil from the kitchen. He gave Sherlock an inviting smile -- perfect bedside manner.

Sherlock sits next to him, moving slow.

"You alright?" John asked, sensing his apprehension. "We don't have to do this. I know you have doctors you prefer. I just thought... If I could help...."

“No it’s fine. Sitting on low things is hard.” Sherlock gets comfortable, putting his leg over John’s lap.

John gave it a thorough inspection. "This looks great," he said sincerely. "Are you doing all the physio exercises you've been given?" As he spoke, he opened the jar of coconut oil and began smearing it over the still healing scar. He sunk his fingers into the flesh, but then caught himself. "Sorry... I should've asked first. I was just gonna massage the scar, break up the tissue so it's less visible. That ok?

“I’m doing the exercises.” Sherlock nods and flinches a bit when John touches him. “It’s okay. Just gentle.”

John made a point to be professional about it. As professional as he could be. He didn't linger, he didn't stroke. "You'll definitely be walking normally again. Soon."

“Soon.” Sherlock nods.

John didn't speak more, just concentrated on his task. Even though it was wonderful touching Sherlock again, he didn't want to stress their intimacy and once he couldn't feel anymore knots, he took his hands away and wiped them on a flannel. It had been nearly an hour's work.

“Thank you.” Sherlock smiles softly.

John smiled. "Thought maybe you were asleep," he said, wiping down his leg.

“Mm ducked into my mind palace for a bit.” Sherlock nods.

"Oh yeah? And how are things in the old mind palace?"

“A bit messy.” Sherlock shrugs.

"Why?"

“Because you’re everywhere.” He blushes a bit.

"In your mind palace?"

Sherlock nods.

John laughed. "Why's that? What's that mean, that I'm all over your mind palace?"

“I put you and everything pertaining to you in a room but you keep popping up everywhere else.” Sherlock sighs, laying back against the couch dramatically.

"Oh, dear," he said quite seriously. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

“Unfortunately not. Apparently you’ve made yourself quite at home here.” He taps his head.

"What do I do in there?"

“Reminding me to take care of myself mostly.”

John nodded. "Oh, good. I'm doing good then." He looked down at Sherlock's legs across his lap and knew he should suggest the man move them, but he very much liked the weight. "What am I saying right now?"

Sherlock flexes his toes against John’s thigh like a cat. “Mostly sleep because I haven’t done that in a few days.” He shrugs.

"Well, then you should listen to me." He smiled. "I can unpack whole you sleep and when you wake up, I'll have dinner made for you... How does that sound?"

Sherlock nods and then blushes. “Will you uhh..” He bites his lip. “Lay with me till I fall asleep?” He says in a rush, having been having a hard time falling asleep after getting used to John’s weight in bed next to him.

"Uh... I. Yes. I could do that."

“Okay.” Sherlock grins.

John helped him up and walked to the bedroom with him. "How much do you usually sleep?"

“Two or there hours every couple of days.” Sherlock shrugs, sleep always having been difficult for him.

John was shocked. "You always slept in the cabin! What happened?"

“I slept cause I was tired and healing and because you were there.” Sherlock hums and sits on the bed.

John helped him get his leg up on the bed and get comfy. "You need someone beside you to sleep?"

“No.. I don’t know..”

"Ok," John said softly. He made himself comfortable on his back alongside Sherlock and looked up at the ceiling. The exhaustion he felt swept through every cell of him. He reached out and took Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock relaxes against him and slowly his eyes close, holding onto John’s hand.


	8. Eight

John woke up the next morning. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, himself. He had intended a light doze until he was certain Sherlock was asleep, then he would get on about it. But now the clock said 6:30 and he could hear the London morning under way.  
He was still holding Sherlock's hand, which he gently extracted himself from, before heading upstairs to make his room a proper living space.

Sherlock has woken in the middle of the night and got up, careful not to wake John. He checked on his experiments and then went through John’s things, making sure they were perfectly but back before carefully getting back in bed with John.

Among his belongings, John found his Barrington with a note: "As discussed this is for use solely for the protection of my brother. it is yours as long as all criteria of our agreement is met. -M"

Sherlock wakes, alone in bed.

As Sherlock slowly came to consciousness, the smell of bacon and pancakes came from the kitchen.

Sherlock makes his way out to the kitchen. “Someone’s been busy.” He says softly.

"I hope you're hungry, I made a lot."

“I could eat.”

John set him up at the space he'd cleared at the table. He'd spent some time moving Sherlock's equipment around to make for a cooking space and a lab space. "If there's anything you want moved back, don't hesitate. Just wanted to make sure the eggs were uncontaminated," he said as he dished them out.

“Ah yes I like my eggs cage free and safe for human consumption.” Sherlock smiles and sits.

John sat across from him and tucked into his plate, feeling better than he had in, well ... Years. A decade? He was almost becoming uncomfortable with the strange sensation when Mrs Hudson popped in with a trill and a handful of papers. "Good morning boys!" she cooed. "Oh, look how lovely! John, you cook? Sherlock, he cooks!" Mrs. Hudson nudged him to underscore that John seemed a great catch.

“Yes, Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock rolls his eyes but smiles nonetheless. “What’ve you got there?” He nods to the papers.

"Messages left for you, dear. A few repeats. You're very missed when you're gone. I can't wait to hear what you got up to and how you met your young man!"

“Anything interesting?” Sherlock asks about the cases.

"how am I to know, love? But there they all are. You boys have fun outings planned for the day?"

“Maybe a case..” Sherlock looks through the notes.

"Not my idea of a date, but if that's what you boys are into." She gave John a little wink. "I'll just be baking, if you need me!" John couldn't imagine a circumstance in which he'd need her, but he thanked her and bade her farewell all the same.

“This seems promising..” Sherlock reads the message.

"What is it?"

“This man says he’s being harassed by gnomes.”

John slowly lowered his coffee cup from his lips. "What?"

“Garden gnomes have been harassing him. Apparently they’re multiplying and no matter what he does more and more show up.” Sherlock hands John the note.

John started laughing as he looked at the note. "This is the opposite of a robbery," he chortled. "Is nonconsentual giving a crime?"

“I don’t know. Maybe illegal dumping? Either way we’ll take a look. Shouldn’t take long.” Sherlock chuckles.

"Illegal dumping?" John chuckled. "You want to go investigate a case of illegal dumping?"

Sherlock shrugs. “I want to see what it is about this man that makes someone want to annoy him with gnomes.”

John shook his head, grinning. The man was a nut. "Yeah, guess I'm curious about that, too."

“Shall we get dressed then?” Sherlock smiles as he finishes eating.

John nodded and went about his morning preparations buoyed by the excitement of getting to see Sherlock work.

Sherlock comes out dressed in his suit, looking posh and delicious.

John studied him with admiration. He was intimidatingly beautiful, but John simply have him a supportive smile as he opened the door for him and followed him to the street.

“Thank you.” Sherlock smiles and leads the way out.

 

******Some time later******

Lestrade as he sat in his office. “Fifty seven. Fifty seven gnomes filled with drugs. Why? Why would someone do that?” He sighs, looking at the two men in front of him. The blonde one had called him saying Sherlock needed him at a crime scene. “When did you start following this nutter around?” Greg asks the blond man.

John smiled. "We met on holiday," he said vaguely. "Just thought I'd come back and help."

“You’re jokin?” Greg blinks, knowing Sherlock puts most people off.

John smiled patiently. "No. We met in France. I was quite taken with him. Incredible, isn't he?"

“Y-yeah. He is.” Greg smiles, happy someone else finally recognizes Sherlock’s abilities.

"And you..." John glanced at where Sherlock was hunched over the desk fussing over paperwork. "You actually ... Use him? Officially?"

“Yup. When he’s clean and sober at least.” Greg nods. “Some consulting work.”

"How longs he been clean?" John asked, just to see if he'd get the same answer from the DI that he'd gotten from Sherlock.

“Well he was gone for a month so assuming he was clean then three, coming on four months now.” Greg nods.

John nodded. "Good for him." But something sat uneasy in his belly.

Greg nods. “Ya know I’m gonna have to search you both. Just cause there was drugs on the scene and you two were there first.” He smiles apologetically.

"Of course," John said, entirely cooperative. He was a bit concerned about Sherlock. He had gotten rather shifty after the false compartment in the gnomes had been uncovered and he hadn't met John's eye since they got here.

Greg gets up and searches John thoroughly, finding nothing. “Thank you for cooperating.” He smiles at John. “Now you.” He nods to Sherlock.

John stood by, hoping to catch Sherlock's eye.

Sherlock sighed and stood up, holding his arms out to be pat down.

As Sherlock was being patted down, John examined the form he'd been filling out. He was reporting five less grams of cocaine than they'd actually found.

“Turn out your pockets.” Greg nods and Sherlock turns them out, empty. “I know you took something. I can see the look on your face.” He frowns.

John subtly signalled to the officer with the curly hair through the window of the office, becking her in. "We're done," he said, handing Sally the report. "Anything else you'll be needing?" Sally flipped through the sheets and said, "Nah, you and the freak are free to go."

Greg frowns as he watches them go.

John was quiet in the cab for a solid five minutes before casually extending his hand out to Sherlock, palm up.

Sherlock looks at Johns hand for a minute before sighing, putting a baggie in his hand.

"What's this about then?"

Sherlock shrugs.

"Sherlock."

“Just habit. Wasn’t gonna use it.”

"You understand why I might have some difficulty believing that."

Sherlock nods.

"Are you unhappy?"

“No. Not at the moment. I just..” Sherlock sighs. “It’s for another time when things aren’t okay..”

John watched him, wishing Sherlock would even try to look at him. "What, you're anticipating something going wrong?"

“I always mess up at some point. No matter what I screw up. I don’t want to feel that.” Sherlock frowns, looking down at his hands in his lap.

John reached out and took hold of his hand. "Things are different now. When you feel bad, there are better ways to cope."

Sherlock rubs his hand. “Sorry..”

John rubbed his thumb against the back of Sherlock's hand, genuinely disturbed. "I would really like," John said gently and carefully, "if you felt like you could talk to me. I know that kind of trust comes with time. But maybe if you felt the need to use again, you could talk to me first."

Sherlock bites his lip and nods. “Okay..”

Apparently, John wasn't going to get anything out of Sherlock and he didn't much fancy trying to wring blood from a stone. So, he sat in silence for the rest of the cab ride and went directly to the bathroom to flush the cocaine down the loo. He sighed deeply, uncertain whether coming here was the right decision.

Sherlock hid the other baggie in the flat and sat in his chair before John came back.

John passed by him on his way from the stairs to the kitchen and took a moment to rumple his hair, kiss his forehead and say softly, "proud of you."

Sherlock blushes and smiles. “Proud enough for a cuddle?”

John looked at the clock. They had spent the entire day rooting around in a garden, tracking down leads in drug dens, and finally discovering the import dock of illegal drugs that were being smuggled in through garden gnomes which were then discarded on a poor Londoner's front garden. It was late. They hadn't eaten. And a cuddle sounded nice. "Tell you what, let's eat and if you clean your plate, you'll get your cuddle."

Sherlock bites his lip considering. “If I eat most of it I get a cuddle and to make out with you.” He counters, pressing his luck.

John chortled as he pulled out the makings for pasta. "You drive a hard bargain. How's this, you eat all of it, you get a cuddle and a kiss."

“Mm fine.” Sherlock smiles, knowing he’ll wear John down.

John hurried over and kissed Sherlock on the side of the mouth. "That's a freebie." Then he went back to the kitchen. "You want to go through these messages while I cook? Find another case?"

“Sure.” Sherlock gets up and goes to the kitchen. He presses John back against the counter and kisses him deeply. “Freebie.” He smirks and he goes to the table to read the notes.

God he forgot how good Sherlock tasted. He watched him a moment as he read. Then he went back to cooking, thinking.

Sherlock looks through the messages, glancing at John from time to time.

Dinner was a simple affair, pasta with sauce and mixed veg. John didn't fill Sherlock's plate to heaping, because he knew the man wasn't used to eating that much. "Anything good?' he asked, putting the plate before Sherlock.

“Four stolen family heirlooms, three missing pets, two attention seekers, and a partridge in a pear tree.” Sherlock sighs.

"Anything of interest?" John asked, grinning.

“We can take care of all three pets this afternoon. I don’t like people not having their pets.” Sherlock frowns a bit.

John looked at the clock. It was well past afternoon, but it wouldn't be the first time Sherlock lost track of time. "You mean before bed? You can find three pets in as many hours?"

Sherlock frowns and looks at the time. “Oh.” He pouts. “Well I think the boyfriend stole the first one to get back at his ex. The second one I think is somewhere on the estate. The third I need more information.”

"you figure that out that from a few notes scratched on a message pad? That's incredible!"

Sherlock blushes and smiles shyly.

"do you want to take care of those things first thing tomorrow? And maybe after we could, I don't know, go out for a drink with some of your friends or something. I'd like to meet them."

“I umm.. I don’t have friends.” Sherlock shrugs.

"Sure you do, some friends on the police force? Wherever you do your science experiments? The sooner you get back to normal life, the better you'll feel."

“Well you met Greg already. And there’s Mrs Hudson. There’s Molly.”

"Molly? Ok, there's someone. Shall we meet with her tomorrow of she's free? Or maybe Greg if you'd prefer?"

“Molly is interested in me. Romantically. And sexually. I don’t think she’s gotten the hint. She works at the morgue at Bart’s.” Sherlock hums. “I don’t mind. Either.”

"Oh," John says softly. He cleared his throat. "Well, Greg's not interested in you, is he?"

“No. He’s still jaded from his divorce from his cheating wife.”

"Shall I guess who deduced the cheating wife?"

“He suspected it. I just told him he should get a lawyer.”

John nodded. "Maybe we should send him a text, see if he's free. That is, if you want to, of course."

“Alright.” Sherlock nods and pulls out his phone. “Why not Molly?” He asks, smirking a bit.

John shrugged and smiled knowingly. "Invite her too, if you want. They're your friends. I just thought maybe you wouldn't want to lead her on."

“If she sees me with you I think she’ll get the hint.” Sherlock shrugs.

"Everyone certainly seems to come to that conclusion," John said, awed. "With less hints than it takes for you to figure something. Are we that obvious?"

“I don’t think so but everyone thinks I’m to weird for anyone to want to be around me unless I let them fuck me.” Sherlock hums.

"That's a very strange thing for people to think,' John said, reaching for another bread roll. "Sounds like something that you would think they think."

“No. They’ve told me. Especially Sally.”

"She said that to you?" John asked, leaning forward, alarmingly engaged. "She actually said to you the only reason anyone would be with you would be to fuck you?"

“Mmhmm. And that I’m a psychopath. And a freak. And a drug addict but I was high then. And a bunch of other things.”

"Who's 'they'?"

“Other people from the yard, children I went to school with, uni peers, teachers, professors, my parents friends, some clients, three drug dealers, and my old landlord.”

John reached out and stroked down Sherlock's face with the back of his fingers very gently. "And you believed them," he said sadly.

Sherlock frowns a bit and nuzzles his hand. “Not that many people can be wrong..”

"That's a ridiculous thing to say. Popular culture is entirely shit because huge amounts of people are all wrong. Do you see the tripe America s pumping out? All rubbish for idiots. truth is, you're just too damn special and they're too damn dumb to notice."

“Oh..” Sherlock blinks, never having had anyone say such nice things beyond he doesn’t know how to react.

John took his hand and kissed his knuckles before turning back to his plate. "Now finish the rest of that and we can get to snuggling."

Sherlock nods and eats, wanting to make John happy.

John was happy indeed to see Sherlock finish his plate. He took them to the sink and told Sherlock, "find something good on the telly if you like. Or I could read to you. Whatever you prefer."

“Reading is good.” Sherlock smiles and goes to the living room, looking for a book.

When he was done with the washing up, he went to the sofa and opened his arms for Sherlock. "What you got there?" He asked regarding the book

Sherlock cuddles into him immediately. “Promise not to laugh.” He says softly and hands him the book, full of pirate stories.

John kissed his curls. "I know you like pirates," he said. He wrapped his arms around sherlock, cradling him with his body and began to read.

Sherlock’s melts into him and falls asleep.

John held Sherlock for several minutes after he realized Sherlock was sleeping. He sighed into his curls and kissed his scalp. Mycroft wanted updates. John would tell him about the case they solved and about Sherlock eating two whole meals, but he wouldn't tell him about smuggling the drugs or the bartering for kisses. He gently roused Sherlock and said, "come on, time for bed."

“You’re comfortable..” Sherlock mumbles, cuddling into him.

John smiled. "You say that now, but come morning you'll have a horrible crick in your neck. Come on, sleepy boy."

Sherlock nods and follows John to bed.

John tucked him in after taking off his shoes. "Goodnight, sweetheart," he said softly, kissing his curls.

“Stay.” Sherlock mumbles, already falling asleep.

"I'll see you in the morning, Sherlock. Sleep well."

Sherlock sleeps hard, the case having tired him out since it was his first big outing since being back.

John woke a little after 2:30 am, his heart pounding and having sweat through his pajamas. He spent the subsequent four hours sitting at his window, gun in hand, watching for snipers.

Sherlock got up in the morning not finding John. He frowns and goes to John’s room. “John? It’s me. You in?”

By the time Sherlock had his head around the door, John had already raised, then concealed his gun when he realized who it was. "I-- yeah. Yeah, right here. What did you need, sweetheart?"

“Just wanted to see if you were here. You okay?” Sherlock frowns when he sees John’s been up all night.

John stole a glance at the clock. "Yeah, fine. Give me a minute and I'll come down and make you breakfast."

“I’ll cook breakfast.” Sherlock nods and goes to the kitchen.

John let out a shaky breath and immediately hid his gun in his bedside drawer. He showered and completed the rest of his morning routine before coming downstairs.

“I didn’t know if you liked your eggs over easy or poached better so I made both.” Sherlock sets John’s plate on the table. It not only has two types of eggs but bacon, sausage, toast, a sliced orange, tea and coffee. “Is this okay?” He blushes a bit.

John blinked as if there was a problem with his vision. "I thought you couldn't cook! This is amazing!"

Sherlock blushes brighter. “It’s just a series of chemical reactions. Wasn’t to difficult.”

"Well, it's just beautiful," John said, smiling at him. "Thank you."

Sherlock smiles and nods, sitting with him.

"How did you sleep?" John asked as he sat down and began to help himself to Sherlock's marvelous spread.

“Okay. I was more tired than I thought. How did you sleep?” Sherlock asks softly, taking a bite of toast.

"Um. Alright. It was fine. Did you hear back from Greg or Molly?"

“They said they’d come.” Sherlock nods.

"Good,' John said, reaching out and taking hold of Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock smiles and squeezes his hand.

John ducked out twice during their series of investigations. The first time, he took a call and didn't catch up with Sherlock for an hour. The second time, he left and didn't return again until thirty minutes after they'd all devised to meet at the pub.  
John didn't have unshakeable faith in the crown's ability to protect him. But he knew he would do anything to ensure Sherlock's safety.

“Everything alright?” Sherlock asks casually as they walk to the restaurant.

"You didn't go ahead to the pub?" John asked, a bit winded. "They'll think we stood them up!"

“I texted them that a case ran a bit long. What have you been up to?” Sherlock raises a brow.

"Just taking care of things for your brother," John said, opening the door of the pub for Sherlock. If he was exhausted and run down he was doing a great job of hiding it.  
The pub was quiet thank God, and John immediately recognized lestrade in the corner and marched swiftly to where he was sitting with a girl with doe eyes and a perpetual expression of apology. "sorry we're late. You must be Molly. Pleasure."  
For her part, Molly had not gotten the hint that this was to be a friendly encounter and had dressed to kill. John immediately felt embarrassed for her. She looked beautiful, but better dressed for an awards ceremony. Confusion was write large on her face at the sight of John, but she made short work of their introduction before she swiftly went to give Sherlock a hug which was the awkwardest thing John had ever had the displeasure to witness.

Sherlock hugs her back awkwardly, looking uncomfortable.

John turned to Greg to break the tension. "Took a bit of work off your plate today, Lestrade," he said, knowing full well that the man's division was homicide and not lost pets. "A spaniel and a cockatoo returned unharmed. How did that last one go, Sherlock?"

“The tabby was in the tree.” Sherlock nods. “Thanks. I’ll get those files off my desk when I go back in.” Greg chuckles.

"Oh, that sounds fun," Molly said brightly. "You're-- So, sorry, how do you two know each other?"

“John is my partner.” Sherlock smiles.

"Another detective?" she chirped.  
"Ah, no, no, I'm not a detective, I just... Help." John bites his lip.

Greg looks between them.

"Oh, thats so nice," she said, but she still couldn't make it out. "I always thought you preferred to be alone," she said to Sherlock and John rather wished she'd just drop it. This didn't feel nice at this point.

“How about some drinks?” Greg breaks the tension.

"Yeah, great!" John said. Initially he rose just to let Greg out of the booth, but once all the drink orders were given, John followed the man to the bar.

“Molly isn’t gonna get the hint unless he tells her.” Greg sighs as they wait for their drinks.

John shook his head. "But, God, it'd be like crushing a baby bird, wouldn't it? Seems cruel. Would it be so bad to let her just keep hoping?"

“It’s been like this since they met. She needs someone else to latch onto and she won’t do it if she thinks he’s still.. Could possibly be interested.” Greg shrugs.

"Why hasn't he just told her he's gay? I mean... He is, isn't he?" Suddenly he wasn't so sure since they'd never discuss the specifics of Sherlocks sexuality.

“I dunno. You’re the first person I’ve ever seen him show up with.” Greg shrugs. “Thanks.” He says to the bartender as their drinks are sat on the counter.

When they returned to the booth, Molly was remarkably wiggly. She was pulling on her hair so much John feared she'd be bald by the end of the night. He sat next to Greg, and handed Sherlock his beer. "Alright?"  
"Sherlock was just telling me about how he used the perfume to get the cockatoo back in! Isn't he clever?"  
"Awfully," John agreed, pleased that someone else appreciated him.

“Thanks.” Sherlock nods and sips his beer. “I could have done without it swearing at me.” He chuckles.

That got a hearty laugh from the table and then they were off talking about all sorts of cases. If John was silent, deflecting questions away from himself as much as possible, no one noticed. He found Molly to be fine company, especially when she finally relaxed.

Greg chuckles and smiles, pulling out his phone as it rings. “Hello? What? Where?” He frowns, setting his beer down.

"Something on?" John asked.

Greg frowns and hangs up. “Someone pushed a homeless man onto the tube tracks. He was to intoxicated to move in time.”

"Do you need us?" John asked, rising from the booth.

“It’s not gonna be pretty.” Greg gets up as well.

"We don't care about pretty. Did they catch the guy or not?"

“No. All we have is a grainy CCTV shot.” Greg puts on his coat. “Sorry molly, then this one comes it you it’s gonna be in pieces.”

John looked at Sherlock to see if he was keen to have a look or keener to go home and snuggle.

“We’ll have a look. If it’s interesting we’ll stay. If you I’m sure the yards finest can handle it.” Sherlock sighs and stands. “Oh joy a field trip.” Greg leads the way out.

John made sure Molly got safely into a cab, as she was a bit tipsy. When he ducked into his own with Sherlock, he said, "Happy with today, Mr. Holmes?"

“Yes.” Sherlock smiles and relaxes against him.

"I see what you mean about Molly. We could send her a proper wedding invitation and she'd still show up hopeful."

“Mmhmm.”

"Do you intend to actually find the perpetrator or do you just want to have a look at a truly mangled corpse?"

“There’s a murderer in the lose. I intend to catch they before have the chance to kill another unfortunate person.”

"Right. Good of you." He reached down and took Sherlock's hand in his. "I'm sorry I didn't sit next to you at the pub. They got there first and sat and I didn't... Want to make a scene. Maybe I should've."

“It’s alright. You’ll make it up to me later.” Sherlock smirks.

"Will I? What will I do?"

“Mmhmm. You didn’t kiss me last night either. Better think of something.” Sherlock winks and is out of the cab as soon as it stops, leaving John to pay.

John paid, marched briskly to catch up with Sherlock's long strides, grabbed his coat, pressed him up against the sign for the metro station and snogged him passionately.

Sherlock moans and kisses him back deeply, holding onto him tightly.

It was a good kiss. It was a long kiss. It was a kiss John had to break away from before he got hard. He pulled away, Sherlock's bottom lip between his teeth, before he gasped softly, "That was for last night."

“Mm sufficient.” Sherlock licks his lips. “And for not sitting next to me? What will you come up with for that?”

"Sufficient?" John snorted. "Well, I'll have to think on that since you're clearly so hard to please," he teased. He turned to find the crime scene and saw Lestrade atop the stairs, watching them through his camera phone.

“You know there’s a body down there. Very unprofessional to be acting as paparazzi.” Sherlock rolls his eyes.

"Yeah. And what on Earth are you going to do with a snap of us snogging?"

“Candid picture of the happy couple.” Greg chuckles.

"God, for a second, I thought you'd arrest us for indecency."

“Don’t think I wouldn’t if I had to.” Greg laughs and heads downstairs.

John laughs with him and reaches back for Sherlock's hand. As they neared the scene, he caught Sally's eye and was immediately reminded of all of the things Sherlock said had been said to him by some of the yard. The warmth in his eyes flickered out and he squeezed Sherlock's hand tighter.

Sherlock smiles and squeezes his hand back.  
“Freak.” Sally comments as they pass by.  
“Evening, Sgt. Donnovan. Having money troubles?” Sherlock fakes concern.  
“No. Why?” Sally frowns.  
“Well you’ve taken up floor scrubbing again. Your knees are just a mess.” Sherlock smirks. “Anderson’s floors must be had work. You’re wearing his shirt after all. Must had dirtied your own.”

John was pleased Sherlock could stand up for himself, but he’d like to see those insults stop entirely. He quirked an eyebrow at her, but made no comment. The scrambled body was more interesting anyway.

Sally stomped up the stairs grumbling.  
Greg sighs as he looks at the scene.

"Not much mystery here," John said, eyeing the splatter.

“No.” Sherlock says distractedly as he looks around. “Lestrade! Where are his things?”  
“What things?” Greg frowns.  
“His belongings. Were they collected already?” Sherlock asks.  
“No. There wasn’t anything with him.” Greg shakes his hand.  
“Now that’s a mystery.” Sherlock smirks at John.

"Better. You think this wasn't a random attack," he guessed, wondering how Sherlock was already leagues beyond everyone else.

“Exactly. Well done John.” Sherlock praises.

A forensic specialist who was stood next to them made a theatrical gag gesture. John turned his gaze on him unerringly and shortly, the man flinched away

Sherlock doesn’t notice, in full on case mode now. He goes to the relay booth and looks at the tapes.

John lost him for a minute and found himself stranded among some irritated looking yarders. He got the sense that Sherlock was likes only by Lestrade. He made eye contact with the curls haired woman and nodded, giving her an opening to make something of it if she wanted to.

“Off you go, lap dog. Don’t want to get left behind.” She snickers.

"What's your problem?"

“What’s yours? You’re the one following around a psychopath.”

"I'm not following him around," John said politely. "This is a date. This is two psychopaths on a date." John smiled simply and walked past her.

“Jesus Christ.” She grumbles.

Eventually, John caught sight of Sherlock's coat swirling up the stairs and he set off in a Sprint after him. "Hey! Where you going?"

“To talk to my network.” Sherlock grins, high off the adrenaline of a good case.

"Right," John was struggling to keep up, so he added a bit of spring to his step. "What's that?" As they swished through London streets, John saw the CCTV cameras track them.

“My homeless network. If they know anything about the victim or similar abuses against their own. Or if they know him.” Sherlock holds up a printed out frame of the CCTV footage, a grainy picture of the man who pushed the victim.

"Oh. Right. Ok," John said, close on his heels.

“I have a deal for you.” Sherlock smirks.

"Go on."

“If tonight ends in a chase and the catching of a murderer I get to suck you off when we get home.”

"That's, ah... That's moving a bit fast, don't you think?" he asked, trying to make it light. "Only the second date and that."  
He was genuinely fond of Sherlock, but he was still not entirely on sound footing with him -- not sound enough to confuse things further with sex.

“We’ll see.” Sherlock chuckles and heads down an alley, knowing if the night goes the way he thinks it will John will be excited and running off pure adrenaline.

John's apprehension was shelved as his focus was entirely on not letting Sherlock get so far away that he might lose him.

Sherlock talks to some of the people in the alley, asking them questions about the victim and the man in the picture. 

John was soon taking notes. He was sure Sherlock would remember things that were important, but he seemed to forget things like people's names.

“Mr. Holmes! Mr. Holmes!” A little girl with a dirty face and dirtier clothes pulls on his coat. “Yes, Darling?” Sherlock smiles softly. “I know that man.” She points to the picture. “Really?” Sherlock sounds surprised. “Mmhmm.” She nods.

John almost didn't breathe for fear of scaring her off. "Tell us what you know about her, sweetheart," he said, as gently as he could.

“He was at the chips shop earlier. He had a booboo on his hand.” She points to his bandaged hand in the picture. “He pushes me out of the way when I asked for change. He had some. I saw him put it in his pocket.”

"Did you see where he went?"

The girl nods. “If you show us I’ll buy you all the chips you want.” Sherlock smiles. “Okay!” She grins and nods.

John followed them and was impressed by the child's recall and clarity. He took notes the whole time but he could tell things we're taking shape in Sherlock’s mind.

“Why did you follow him?” Sherlock asks her, curious. “Because I didn’t want him to hurt the littler kids. He already seemed upset about something so.” She shrugs, leading them to the chips shop.

"Hurt littler kids? Did you see him hurt the bigger kids?"  
He could tell by the looks they were getting that the little old ladies wished the two fathers would tidy their daughter up a bit.

“Sometimes. People hurt people like us cause we’re different. They think we’re dirty and stupid. We’re not. We just don’t got a house.” She rolls her eyes. “We all know that man though. He usually comes around a few times a month. Yells at random people. Scares them. Then he leaves. Sometimes he hurts them. Punches them and pushes them to the ground. We tried to make him stop but he said if we stopped him he’d hurt us worse. We tried to get the police to help but they said it was our fault for being streets people.” She frowns. “It’s not our fault. Most of the kids don’t have a mummy or daddy. And if they do they feel safer out here then with them. That’s kinda sad, isn’t it? Feeling safer outside than at home.”

"This guy has to be mentally unstable," John said quietly to Sherlock. "Schizophrenic or something."

Sherlock nods. “He’s clearly not all there. His behavior seems somewhat manic if she’s accurate.” He says quietly.  
“We’re here.” The girl nods and stops outside of the shop, knowing the owner won’t let her in.

John took the girls hand and confidently strode into the shop. "What's your name, love?" He asked softly.

“Tabitha. But everyone calls me Tabs because I keep tabs on everything.” She smiles and holds his hand, not more than eight but small for her age all the same.

John smiled and led them all to a corner booth where they could see out the window. "When was the last time you ate?" he asked her.

“Umm..” Tabitha looks down at the news paper on the table, reading the date. “Two days ago.”

"Ok. Let's get you something more than chips, then, ok? How do you like shepherds pie?"

“I like pie.” She smiles and nods.

"Ok," John laughed, charmed. Then he pointed at Sherlock and said, "You're eating, too."

“To set a good example for the child?” Sherlock teases.

"No, *I'm* setting a good example for the *children*," John countered, indicating both Sherlock and Tabs.

“Ha ha.” Sherlock mocks a laugh. “Pie for all of us then? I want to talk to the people that work here and see if they know the man’s name.”

"Pie for all of us," John agreed, in jolly spirits.

Sherlock chuckles and goes to the counter to order and ask questions. “So do you work with Mr. Holmes?” Tabs smiles.

"Ah, yes," John said uncertainly. "I suppose I help him out... Like friends."

“That’s good.” Tabs nods. “He’s a nice man. He helps people like us. But he’s lonely. Maybe you can help him not be lonely anymore.” She smiles.

"What makes you think he's lonely?”

Tabs shrugs. “He’s always alone. And lonely people use the needles so they feel better.” She hums, having seen Sherlock get drugs a while ago. “But that just makes them more sadder.”

"You've seen him with needles?"

She shakes her head. “No but I’ve seen him get the stuff that goes in the needles. While ago now. He seems happier now you’re here. He smiles for real.”

John looked over at Sherlock at the counter. He'd only seen Sherlock in a bad way once in his life but what he saw... Was borderline catastrophic. It had almost ruined everything. Enough to make him turn over mortal secrets.  
John shook himself from those dark thoughts. "You've known him a while then."

Tabitha nods. “Sometimes he’ll send us on errands. Me and the other kids. Just to go out and watch people or things.” She smiles. “Then we go back to him and tell him what we saw. He gives us food or clothes. Money sometimes but after he figured out the bigger kids would take the money from us he’d ask us what we needed or wanted and he’d buy it for us. Sometimes when one of us is in trouble he’ll talk to the police and make it not so scary. He helps us when everyone else tries to pretend we’re not there.”

John nodded. "Where are your parents, Tabs?"

“They died.” Tabs says softly.

"And no other living relatives?"

“My uncle.” She makes a face. “He smells the same way the man did at the accident my parents died at. Like the burny drink.”

"Right," John sighed. Their pies came and before the waiter could leave, he asked for another to bag for the road. It would at least give Tabs breakfast.

Tabitha hums happily as she eats.

John checked on Sherlock s progress.

“Waiting to see if they have a better CCTV picture of him. Flashed Greg’s badge.” Sherlock puts Greg’s badge back in his pocket, having taken it off Greg at the tube station.

John nodded. "Come back and eat. They could be a while fetching it."

Sherlock nods and goes back to the table. Tabitha has already eaten half her pie, starting to feel full.

John sat again. "You have to watch him," John told Tabs, "otherwise he gets distracted and forgets to eat. Like a goldfish."

Tabs giggles and smiles. “I always make him share chips with me.”  
“She’s a very good sharer.” Sherlock smiles.

"I've noticed the little lady has many talents."

“She does. She’s one of the most observant children I know.” Sherlock smiles.  
Tabitha preens at the praise.

"You still think we can find him tonight, then?" John asked.

“Maybe. We’ll see. Why? Wanna take the deal?” Sherlock eats.

John shook his head, no. "Thought we might give her a proper bed tonight. Call child protective services in the morning," he whispered.

Sherlock nods. “I have before. She just keeps running away from her uncles.” He whispers.

John sighed. "Then one night. If this wraps before dawn, yeah?"

Sherlock nods. “If they can recognize him from the CCTV hopefully they have a name or he payed with card. I’ll text Greg and we’ll go home.”

"You don't want to bag him yourself?"

Sherlock shrugs. “She deserves a bath and somewhere safe to sleep.” He says quietly.

John leaned in and kissed his cheek. "I think so, too. Eat up."

Sherlock nods and smiles, eating.

It was no more than an hour later that they all tumbled into 221b. John found an old shirt of his to use as a nightshirt and collected a few bath supplies for Tabs. Then he left her in the bathroom. "Well," he said softly, "I suppose I'll give her my bed."

“If you want. Do make sure to take the gun out though.” Sherlock hums as he hears the shower.

John was swiftly up the stairs and coming back down with a wooden box. "You, uh.... You weren't supposed to know about the gun."

“I know.” Sherlock chuckles softly.

"Does it bother you? That it's here?"

“Personally I don’t like them but it makes you more comfortable having it so it can stay.”

John sighed. "I wish I didn't have to. I'm just not in the clear. I had a few scares today, Sherlock."

“Yeah I thought so. How bad?” Sherlock asks softly.

John shook his head. "They were false leads," John said softly. He took the box and put it in the drawer of the coffee table. Then he got sheets for the cupboard and began preparing it as a bed.

“You can sleep with me if you want.” Sherlock offers.

John kissed his hand in passing and said, "Soon." Then continued making up the sofa.

Sherlock nods and goes to make tea.  
Tabitha comes out from the bathroom scrubbed clean and dressed in John’s shirt.

"How do you feel?" John beamed at her from his little bed on the sofa.

“Better. Shiny.” Tabs smiles, skin a few shades lighter now the grime was gone.

"You look shiny," John said, rumpling her wet hair. "Do you want me to show you your room?"

“Yes please.” Tabs smiles. “Goodnight, Mr. Holmes.” She says to Sherlock.  
“Goodnight, Ms. Tabitha.” Sherlock smiles softly.

John took her upstairs. "Do you think this will be cozy enough?" He asked.

“It’s great. I’ve never seen a bed this big.” Tabitha grins.

"That's because it's a grown-up bed. Now, is there anything you need? I'll be right down stairs and Sherlock is just down the hall."

“No. I’m okay.” She yawns.

"Ok. Wake us if you need anything." John smiled at her as he shut the door. He came back downstairs and looked to see if Sherlock was still up.

“Okay?” Sherlock asks, bringing over tea.

"She's... It's nice to have met her. I forgot how much I like kids. They're so... funny. Refreshing."

“She’s very brilliant.” Sherlock nods. “She keeps the younger children safe and the older ones out of to much trouble. I’m sorry she’s had such a crumby start in life.” He sighs and hands John his tea.

"Thank you," John smiled at him and made room on his bed-sofa. "You were thrilling today, as usual."

“Oh.” Sherlock blushes and smiles shyly. “I’m glad. Do you enjoy it?”

"Always. Always. Is it always this full? Clock to clock excitement?"

“No. Sometimes there’s weeks of nothing and that’s awful.” He pouts.

"Weeks? What do you do when there's no case?"

“Cocaine.” Sherlock shrugs.

"And since you've been sober?"

“Cold cases at the Yard if Lestrade doesn’t have anything new. Or interesting.”

John nodded, then reached out and massaged Sherlock's knee.

Sherlock relaxes against him.

John spoke softly to him as they sipped their tea. He recalled little jokes during the day, the moments of breakthrough. "Sorry to see our time with Greg and Molly cut so short. They're nice mates."

“It’s okay. They understand. They’re good like that.” Sherlock smiles softly and sips his tea.

"I, uh... I told Sally we were psychopaths on a date."

“Oh my god you didn’t!” Sherlock grins. “What did she say?” He nearly bounces with excitement.

"Nothing, I just walked by her and she made a snarling sound."

“You are brilliant.” He smiles and kisses him happily.

John smiled and put down his tea to sink his fingers into Sherlock's hair and snogged him properly.

Sherlock mewls softly and melts into the kiss. He presses close and holds onto John, slipping his tongue into John’s mouth.

John didn't know what he'd done to earn Sherlock's attraction. He wasn't anywhere near as clever or exciting, and he wasn't even kind. But he'd never had anyone feel so good in his arms as he steamily kissed back.

Sherlock moves and straddles John’s lap, never breaking the kiss.

"Hey, hey, hey, shhhh, slow down," John panted, his hands on Sherlock's hips. "There's a... Child, there's a child upstairs."

“I know.” Sherlock nuzzles John, sitting in his lap.

John nuzzled him back. "So we can't get riled up, ok?"

“Okay..” Sherlock mumbles, cuddling into him.

John hugged him close in his lap, stroking his hands up and down Sherlock's back and into his hair. He breathed into Sherlock's neck and gave him soft kisses there.

Sherlock relaxes against him and closes his eyes. He just wanted to be close to John but didn’t know how to ask.

John couldn't have stopped stroking him if he'd wanted to. He kept running his hands over every bit oh him he could reach and he felt Sherlock's weight settle more deeply into his lap as he did.

Sherlock’s breathing deepened as he fell asleep in John’s lap, still curled up against him.

John dozed underneath him and his hands only went completely still after he'd fallen asleep himself. They'd only been asleep for an hour when John startled awake with a gasp and a jerk.

“What’s the matter?” Sherlock jumps, blinking awake.

"It's ok, baby," John said, rising, taking Sherlock with him. "Let's just get you to bed, ok?"

Sherlock nods sleepily and leans into him.

John hurried him in to the bedroom where he tucked him in and kissed his brow. "Don't come out until morning, ok? No matter what you hear."

“John.” Sherlock frowns. “What about Tabs?”

"yeah, I'll check on her. You just stay here, yeah?" With that he snuck out and ascended the stairs to see if the little girl was sleeping peacefully.

Sherlock waits nervously, hoping this is just one of John’s PTSD nightmares flaring up and there isn’t actual danger.

Come morning, John was sat at the window in the living room, at the window, gun at the ready.

Sherlock slowly makes his way out of the room. “It’s me John. You said it was okay to come out in the morning. Are you okay?” He asks softly.

John blinked as if coming out of a daze. "Oh, uh.. I am, yeah. How did you sleep?" He looked at the clock and saw it was past 7.

“Alright. You didn’t sleep at all.” Sherlock frowns.

"Uhh, I dozed on and off." He didn't mention that he always awoke with a start. "Looks like out guest needed a big break."

“Oh?”

"She's still sleeping. Haven heard her even shift through the night. Must've been tired, poor thing."

Sherlock nods. “She usually sleeps at the women and children’s center.”

John nodded and sighed. He carefully put his gun back in its case and rubbed his face in his hands.

“How about some breakfast?” Sherlock gently rubs John’s back.

John leaned back into him and groaned. He was in pieces from sitting all night. "Yes," he moaned, "maybe in a bit." He didn't budge for fear of Sherlock moving his hands away.

“Okay.” Sherlock gently massages him.

John stood still to suck up as much TLC as he could, before he took hold of one of Sherlocks hands and kissed it all over up to his wrist. Then he dragged Sherlock over to the sofa with him and curled up tightly around his body. He was trembling slightly, sweating too much for a man who had been sat in one place all night.

Sherlock frowns and holds John close. “Talk to me. You seem ill.” He gently pushes John’s hair from his face.

John pressed even harder into him, smashing him into the sofa. "I talked because I thought all those things you said to me were true."

Sherlock frowns. “I only said them so you’d be safe.”

John breathed hard for a few seconds. Then, "What?"

“I said those things so you would talk because if you didn’t you were going to die. Either by my brother’s hand or by the people hunting you. This was the only way you’d be safe. I’m sorry.” Sherlock’s hands still.

"Sherlock, you were trying to hurt me; you're not that good a liar."

Sherlock sighs. “I had.. Have some pent up anger at my brother and I took it out on you.” 

"I've-- I've been going mad, Sherlock, trying to figure out which parts you meant, what was true...." He clung hard to Sherlock, feeling horrible emotions he'd spent years repressing. "I know in my heart so much of it was true. Maybe all of it."

Sherlock holds him tight. “Everything I said at the cabin was true. Everything I’ve said to you since your release has been true. When you were captured I did whatever I had to do to make sure you lived. I’m sorry. I just wanted you to be okay. Even if you never talked to me again.”

"It was all true and you bloody know it and if we don't talk about it, it will haunt me for the few days I have left!" He sat up abruptly and put his face in his hands. When he looked up, there was a small urchin child looking at him in confusion.

Tabs frowns and rubs her eye sleepily. She goes over and sits on the coffee table, looking at John. “You’re upset.” She states.

"Just nightmares, darling. How did you sleep? Are you hungry?" He rose to go to the kitchen and start breakfast.

Tabs reaches out and takes his hand gently in her little one, stopping him. “It’s okay. You don’t have to lie anymore. It only hurts you.” She says softly.

John squeezed her hand. "Thank you, sweetheart. I'm trying. I'm trying not to lie anymore."

Tabitha smiles softly and nods. “It’ll get better. I promise. Things always get better. We just have to work hard and be patient.”

"Of course it will, Tabs. Thank you. Now, how do you feel about pancakes?"

“They sound yummy.” She grins, letting his hand go.

John smiled at her, but checked over his shoulder to see what state Sherlock was in.

‘We’ll Talk. I promise.’ Sherlock mouths.

John gave him a weak smile. He was exhausted. He didn't look so good. But he still put on a good show for Tabs, letting her help with the pancakes.

Tabs helps him, following his directions to the letter.

John summoned Sherlock when the meal was ready. He asked any question that he knew would get tabs prattling to fill the silence.

Tabs hums happily when she finishes eating, belly fully and happy. “So what’s the case now? Why did we have to find the man?”

"Yes, hut he's hurt his last person like you."

“I have to go.” Tabs hops up and heads for the door.

"Wh-- where are you off to?"

“I have to figure out who it was.” She says as if it was obvious.

"Right,";John said helping her collect her clothing and leftovers. "Listen, Tabs, if you need anything, food, shelter, if you get scared, you'll come to us, won't you?"

“I will.” Tabs smiles and nods. “I’ll come back tonight. I’ll have a name by then.” She hugs him.

"Oh. Right." John hugged her back and said, "Be careful," before he watched her scurry off. When he came back to Sherlock, he said, "We may have accidentally adopted a child."

“Wouldn’t be my first.” Sherlock chuckles.

"Oh, really? Well, we're already terrible parents. We let her run off into a dangerous city when we couldve gotten a name just by texting Greg." He went to the couch and collapsed face first.

“Actually they don’t have a name. I texted texted Lestrade this morning. There was no identification on the victim.” Sherlock follows John, gently rubbing his back.

"Hmm. I wonder if she'll get it..."

“We shall see. She’s far above her peers in nearly every regard except fiscally.”

John sighed. "She's coming back. Do you think she'll want to stay?"

“Forever? No. For a night or two from time to time? Maybe. I’ve offered before for her to stay here or to find her a foster home. She says she needs to be with her people.” Sherlock says softly, gently massaging John’s shoulders.

John sighed. He reached back and took hold of Sherlock's knee. "She's got a tough road ahead of her."

“She’s smart. A lot smarter than most so called adults I know. We’ll make sure she makes it okay.” Sherlock says softly, gently working on the knots in John’s muscles.

John groaned when he felt something give way in his back. He squeezed harder on Sherlock's leg.

“Continue or stop?” Sherlock stills.

"more, please," John begged gently.

Sherlock nods and keeps going, slowly moving his way down John’s body and working out his knots.

Before long, John was sound asleep, his body worn out.

Sherlock smiles softly and quietly goes to sit in his chair, watching John.

John awoke an hour later. He didn't see Sherlock was in the room with him and he sat up and rubbed his face. "Pull yourself together, Watson," he chided. "You've been in spots tougher than this."

Sherlock has moved to his microscope, working and listening for John.

John stumbled and shuffled about until he tumbled in the kitchen, somewhat surprised to see Sherlock. "Oh, hi... I, um... Fell asleep."

“Yes you did. You needed it. How do you feel?” Sherlock smiles softly.

"Better," John walked behind him and began to massage his shoulders as a thank you. "Thanks to you." He kissed Sherlock's curls.

“You’re welcome. I’m glad it helped.” Sherlock nearly purrs as he’s massaged.

John kissed his crown and down his neck before folding his arms around him and squeezing. "Plans today? A case?

“Just experiments. Was thinking about getting takeaway for dinner. Tabs is supposed to be by at some point.” Sherlock relaxes back against him. He tips his head to the side, letting John have more access to his neck.

"Maybe I could... Take you somewhere nice, before Tabs comes back. Somewhere dark, with wine..." He kissed up Sherlock's neck again to his ear. "Would you like that?"

Sherlock blushes all the way down his neck. “Like umm.. Like a date?”

"Exactly like a date. Sherlock, will you go on a date with me?"

“Yes. I’d love to.” Sherlock blushes and grins. 

John kissed him up. "Good. I know just the place. You like French cooking?" It was extortionist and romantic and John was going to give Mycroft’s credit card hell.

“I do.” Sherlock kisses him back, smiling.

"Ok," John said, his arms around Sherlock, nuzzling him gently all over. He knew he was hard to be around. He wanted to make it up to Sherlock.

Sherlock turns and pulls John in for a hug, holding him close.

John nuzzled him. "You alright, darling?"

“I’m fine. Just wanted you close.” Sherlock nuzzles him back.

John smiled. "God, you're sweet. You're the sweetest thing. Sweet as a bunny rabbit. How have you not been swept up?"

“I have a borrowed head in my fridge.” Sherlock gives an example.

"Hardly a deterrent," John chuckled.

“Mm so you say.” Sherlock smiles.

"I do. One day, I'll make you believe it." He gave Sherlock's throat a final kiss before he went about further tidying the flat.  
It was in the mid afternoon that John received a text. He stared at it for a solid five minutes, his face becoming colder and stonier with each passing moment. "I have to go out," he said abruptly. "I'll be back by six. Reservation is at 6:30." With that, he grabbed his gun from the drawer and was gone.

“John.” Sherlock frowns but John was gone before he could stop him. He paces for a bit, trying not to worry. He decided to shower and get ready for their date.

At 6:15, Sherlock received a text from John that read, "Running behind, meet you there, reservation under my name."

‘Are you okay? You’re making me worried.-SH’ Sherlock sighs and pulls on his suit jacket over his tight purple shirt. He grabs his coat and heads to the restaurant.

At 7:00, John finally showed up. Fine tuned deductive skills would prove that John had tried to hand scrub himself clean in a sink, as he missed some blood smears under his ear. There was still gunpowder bon his hand and the button down he'd hurried himself into didn't hide the bruise forming on his collar. "So sorry I'm late, darling," he said, his voice harsh and his skin still stinking slightly of gasoline.

“Are you alright?” Sherlock asks softly and dips his napkin in the water, wiping away the blood before anyone sees.

"What's that? Is that--?" He shut up when he saw the red on Sherlock's serviette. "Fine," he said, clipped. "Did you get wine?"

Sherlock nods and waves over the waiter who brings them wine and menus.

John rubbed at his neck to get any more possible blood of of him. "Hear anything from Tabs?"

“She came by before I left. She said so one was missing. It’s not one of her people.” Sherlock sighs.

John frowned. "A homeless person she didn't know?"

“Exactly. You see how improbable that is.” Sherlock sips his wine.

"So, what's your theory?" John asked, slowly settling in as he drank his wine.

“I’m not sure he was homeless now. He didn’t have any identification. No belongings to suggest he was homeless. Just a man sleeping on a bench in the tube who was a victim. Tabs doesn’t know him and I’m sure she asked everyone. Molly is still putting the pieces together still. I don’t have enough data but I don’t think he was homeless.” Sherlock sighs and closes his menu. “So how was your day?” He looks to the powder burn on John’s hand.

"well, I won't lie to you and tell you it was good," John said, hiding his hand beneath the table. "But I hope you'll forgive me if I spare you the details."

“If you want but details are my livelihood.” Sherlock says softly, wanting John to be able to talk to him.

John shook his head and reached out and took hold of Sherlock's hand. "I don't want to think about it. Right now, the only thing I want to think about is you."

“Alright.” Sherlock nods and kisses John’s knuckles.

John let out a little huff that belied how much stress he was under. He pulled Sherlock around so they could meet in the center of the booth and said quietly. "C'mere... If you don't mind, I just want to be close to you."

Sherlock presses close, nearly putting them in each other’s laps. “Better?” He nuzzles him.

John kissed his temple over and over. "God, yes, you beautiful thing." He didn't think Sherlock could get more beautiful than he had been in the cabin, but healed and backlit by London, he was radiant.

Sherlock pulled John in and kisses him deeply, having been so worried while they were apart.

John kissed him back. All he could think about for the last four hours was Sherlock; getting back to him, keeping him safe. They were probably tipping I to the inappropriate when the waiter came with their food, splitting them up.

Sherlock stays glued to John’s side as they eat, his hand resting on John’s thigh.

John couldn't stop interrupting his meal to give Sherlock soft pecks. The man was rambling about his experiment of the day, making John laugh, calming him down. He couldn't take his eyes off him. And he did have to remind him to slow down and eat, as usual.

Sherlock talks and eats and kisses John as they enjoy dinner. He decides then that he wouldn’t leave his side.

John played with the hairs at the back of Sherlock's neck and gazed at him as they finished their wine. "Where would you go?" he asked. "If you had to run away? Where would you want to live?"

“With you.” Sherlock nuzzles him.

John choked softly then cleared his throat. Then cleared it again. "Dear God why?"

“Because I don’t want to be without you.” Sherlock blushes, feeling self conscious about his answer now.

John stroked his cheek and kissed his jaw. "I don't want to be without you, either... Ever. Christ, I thought the minute we got out of that cabin... Well, I didn't know what you'd do."

“Wherever you lead I’ll follow. Don’t go where I can’t follow.” Sherlock kisses him.

John kissed him back, slowing hoping to trust that whatever had been between them in the cabin could be salvaged from what had happened between them in the cell.

Sherlock melts against him, staying pressed close.

John felt himself wanting him again, and that strongly. He pulled away to compose himself, wishing he had had a chance to shower before he's come. "Perhaps we should get the check and retire?"

“Our check has already been taken care of. I may have helped the owner figure out who was watering down the mixed drinks while stealing the liquor while I waited.” Sherlock smiles.

"Of course you did. You're a bloody wonder." John kissed his knuckles and helped him up and into his coat. As they passed the maitre'd, he heard the man sigh in the Frenchest way possible, "Ah, so in love..."

Sherlock blushes brightly as he flags a cab for them.

They were both a bit tipsy in the cab, flirtily playing with each other, and when they finally got to their flat, it was the sound of the TV that kept John from pressing Sherlock into the nearest wall and having his way with him. "Oh, right... Hi, Tabs!"

“Hi.” Tabs sighs. “I dunno who it is. The man who go hurt. No one knows him. No one is missing.”

"Well don't worry, Tabs," John said. "Sherlock is on the case. And nothing stumps Sherlock."

“Okay.” Tabitha nods, having exhausted all of her resources.

"What are you watching? Are you hungry?"

“I’m just going back and forth between movies.” Tabs shrugs. “A little hungry.” She nods.

John smiled are Sherlock. "We have leftovers if you want them. Or we could order in pizza."

“Pizza.” Tabs grins. “Alright.” Sherlock chuckles and goes to the kitchen for the takeaway menu.

John followed him, putting his hand on the small of Sherlock's back. "I'm going to shower. You ok to look after her?"

“Well be fine.” Sherlock smiles softly. “I was hoping to shower with you but next time I suppose.” He whispers and smiles, kissing John.

John smiled back at him and snuck down the hall to the bathroom.

Tabs relaxes on the couch.

When the delivery man came, John went to the door and retrieved it, then brought it into the kitchen. "Come and get it! And you have to eat it in here, because I don't want crumbs on the sofa. That's my bed, remember."

Tabs smiles and bounces into the kitchen and sits at the table.

John dropped himself on the sofa next to Sherlock, kicking his feet up and lacing his hands behind his head. "She's a good girl."

Sherlock nods and cuddles into John’s side.

John wrapped his arms around him and kissed his head. He liked this a lot, this life. He stroked his fingers through Sherlock's hair and closed his eyes.

Sherlock smiles softly and melts against him, feeling content.

The evening was getting late and John was dozing on Sherlock's curls when a text came in. He knew better than to ignore it, so he grabbed his phone off the coffee table and had a peek. Then he immediately rose and shut all the blinds and curtains.

“John?” Sherlock frowns. “What’s happening?”

"Nothing, darling. I just need to go out. And I need you to promise me you'll stay here and not answer the door for anyone that isn't me or your brother."

Sherlock frowns but nods. “Promise me you’ll be okay. Promise.”

"Of course, darling, I'm going to be fine." He swooped down to kiss Sherlock's soft lips before putting a smeck on Tabs forehead. "Be good, the both of you," he said before throwing a coat over his jimjams and hurrying out the door.  
Once in the street, he called Mycroft and alerted him to the text threatening the lives of Sherlock and Tabs if he didn't comply with the demands. "I want my gear, Mycroft," John demanded. "Not just one handgun, I want full access to all of my gear."  
His brother's life having been threatened, Mycroft granted it, along with all of the information he had concerning the situation.  
John was met with a government car on the corner, containing everything he needed, including a change of clothes that looked a little less ridiculous. He felt better prepared to face the threat he was coming up against.

“Where’s John going?” Tabs looks to Sherlock.  
“I don’t know.” Sherlock frowns and calls Mycroft.

Mycroft answered the phone after one ring. "Hello, brother mine."

“What’s happening?” Sherlock frowns.

Mycroft didn't pretend he didn't know what Sherlock was talking about. "Well, if you do remember the terms of his release, danger and threat loomed large. I trust he told you to stay where you are?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Also explicit in those terms were that he keep you happy, cared for, and safe. Are you happy, cared for, and safe?"

“Yes.” Sherlock grits his teeth.

"He'd jolly well better. It's in the contract. He's not allowed to displease you."

“What is going on Mycroft? Where is he?”

"Taking care of you, Sherlock. Like he's obligated to do. I so wonder if you're even paying attention sometimes. There are people out to kill him, you know. Tonight they targeted you."

Sherlock pales. “Does he have back up?”

"Of course. I have a team on you and a team on him. But when it comes to killing, there's no one better than your new boyfriend. He's taking care of it."

“Call me if there’s an update.” Sherlock hangs up.

John didn't return until three days later. He had a limp and a wheeze for broken ribs. The hospital had patched him up, but he was still black and blue and broken. He crept inside carefully and called, "Sherlock?"

“John.” Sherlock frowns and is to his side in an instant. He helps him to the couch. “What can I do? What do you need?”

"Oh, I'm fine, love, I've been treated." He took Sherlock's hand and kissed it. "It's so good to see you."

“I was so worried. You were gone for so long.” Sherlock frowns, hand trembling slightly in John’s.

"I'm sorry, darling," he said weakly. "I came as soon as I could -- your brother busted me out of the hospital,"he said with a pained laugh.

Sherlock frowns. “Let’s get you into bed so you can relax. My bed so you don’t have to climb the stairs to your room.”

John nodded and used all his strength to get to his feet again. "You alright? Tabs alright? Figure out who the dead guy was?" he wheezed.

“Yes yes. We’re fine.” Sherlock gets John into bed and comfortable, pillows all around to help his ribs. “It was a set up. A hit. Some mob boss had been dressing up hits as homeless people so no one would look into it. No one except Tabs. Mycroft has her under heavy guard at his office so she can testify.”

John frowned. "How did he get his targets to dress like homeless people?"

“Drugged them. A mix of horse tranquilizer and cocaine. They’d take the mark, drug them, dress them, and usually they’d get themselves killed. Walking into traffic, drowning, other accidents. But this one didn’t and the drugs were starting to ware off so they needed to make sure he was dead before he could tell anyone what happened.” Sherlock explains. “Tabs was right. It wasn’t one of her people. We got a tattoo of the victim. It matched to a know rival mob who identified the body. Mycroft is trying to stop an all out mob war.”

"Let the shits kill each other," John shrugged. "Would've been great money for me if I was still in the game."

“It’ll escalate and other innocent people will die.” Sherlock sighs.

John just made a little 'eghn' sound. "The mobs are weak. It'll be over soon."

“Hopefully.” Sherlock sits on the bed. “Do you need anything? Are you hungry? When was the last time you ate?”

John smiled and stroked the back of Sherlock's hand. "Well, now, isn't this a reversal? Now I'm helpless in your home, in your bed, and you can take sexual advantage of me."

“Mm only if you want me to.” Sherlock smiles and kisses him gently.

"Did you want me to? In the cabin?"

“Yes.”

John reached up with fractured fingers and stroked Sherlock's face. He sighed heavily. "I'm in love with you, you know... Since the cabin. Always had been. Even when I thought you'd betrayed me. You're all I could think of these past few days. But sometimes I just don't know what you're thinking. Or what's going on with you. I become filled with doubt."

Sherlock blushes brightly and gently kisses his fingers. “I love you. So much it hurts.” He whimpers.

John sighed. "Do you forgive me? For my sins?"

“Of course.” Sherlock nods.

"What I did -- what you know I did in the army... It doesn't haunt you?"

Sherlock bites his lip.

"Aha," John nodded, his suspicions confirmed. "How can you love me, then?"

“I don’t know but I do.” Sherlock frowns. “You never told me what you did.”

"No. I suppot. It's a hard thing to talk about. For many reasons."

Sherlock nods.

John swallowed. "I'm not sure what happened, empirically. There were so many different interpretations. So much speculation and... It was so charged, I know my memories are unclear. I don't trust my own account of events..."

“Just tell me what you think the truth is.” Sherlock says softly.

John nodded, and then he closed his eyes for a long time. Eventually he erupted with, "Bloody hell, I need a drink for this. Any scotch in the house?" When Sherlock returned with a glass and a bottle and had helped John partake a few sips, he seemed a bit restored. All the same, he started slowly. "It came to my attention that some of the boys would come to me because they knew I would touch them. I honestly don't know what happened first -- that realization or the realization that I liked touching them. I... I had been a homophobe for most of my life. I know the identity crisis had a lot to do with my impaired judgment and my impaired memory. But I do know that at least twenty percent of my patients were there because they wanted hands on them in varying degrees. It... The army can do strange things to your mind like that. The men get so lonely, they'd try to steal a kiss off a camel. But they came in for bruises that needed massaging or sunburns that needed medical lotions and delousing shampoos they wanted me to administer -- all overt malingerers. And so, I ... I touched them. It was mutual. Even innocent."  
Here he paused. "When it escalated, I thought that was mutual, too. Whenever I was told to stop, I did and I never pushed that line. But some of them... Two of them, never told me to stop." He heaved a heavy sigh. "You know what a prostate exam is?"

Sherlock nods. “I do..”

"Well, two lads Walker and Hargreeves, started complaining of the need for them. And so I complied. I complied to orgasm." He took a faulty sip of scotch. "I wasn't being selfless, I was a decedent monster. They were both beautiful and exciting in their own way. Walker was this pretty little slip -- the kind that needs taking care of, like you. Hargreeves was manly and tough, but came like a geyser when his button was rubbed. I never fucked any of them. They always came on my table, I always wanked ferociously alone in my bunk. Then, well... They both came back from leave and I for written up for sexual misconduct. Several lads signed it -- I never learned their names, but I know Walker and Hargreeves were the spearheads. I was too valuable to lose, so they shipped me to another base and..." John tapped his wounded shoulder. "It's not official, bit it was Hargreeves. I think he was trying for a shot to the heart."

“Oh John..” Sherlock frowns.

"Hm?"

“I’m sorry.” Sherlock kisses his bruised knuckles, still not fully believing John was guilty and thinking he was a scapegoat.

"I was greedy, Sherlock. I had a chance to touch men the way I wanted to, and I took it. I know... There were some that were uncomfortable with it. You know, there were rumors. Unkind nicknames. I got careless and... greedy."

Sherlock frowns. “You said you stopped if they told you. You wouldn’t push that line.”

"No. But I... I upset people. Clearly. And, my God, Sherlock, my motives were anything but pure."

“You did what they asked you to do. The idea of purity is being clouded by your previous homophobia.”

John groaned quietly. "I don't know, Sherlock. I don't know if I even remember it properly. I never defended myself. I just wanted it to go away." He closed his eyes, his brow furrowed. "I was sweet on Walker. I thought... I fancied he came to me because... Because he liked me. I thought I would write him letters... Find him when we were discharged. Take care of him. Have him proper." He seemed to sink further into the cushions. "What a bloody fool I was."

Sherlock frowns. “John.. It sounds like you had a crush. They found out about it and reacted badly. They probably thought it was just physical release you’d give them. But when they found out you had real feelings they go scared. Their own homophobia kicked in and you took the brunt of it.”

"I don't think he could have possibly known."

“You’re not exactly subtle when it comes to your attraction.”

John laughed out loud for a second before his ribs protested and he couldn't stop hissing and groaning.

“Easy.” Sherlock frowns. “When was the last time you were medicated?”

"Uhh... When I left the hospital. I dislike painkillers... Don't like being numb."

“Maybe I can wrap your ribs?”

John nodded. "In a minute. Not just yet. Sit with me more."

Sherlock nods and kissing his hand gently.

John squeezed his hand the best he could. "I love that you think the best of me. I'm not sure I deserve it, but I appreciate the hell out of it."

“The most important thing is to do better now. I know you can. I’ll help you.” Sherlock says softly.

"I think I could do anything for you." And he just had.

Sherlock smiles softly.

John gazed at him, as if stoned on the sight of him. "I'm sorry for everything I said to you in that cell. I didn't know. I was hurt. I was in love with you and thought you'd just used me. I didn't know."

Sherlock nods and gently caresses his face. “We both said things we didn’t mean. It’s okay. I love you, too.”

"I wish... I wish you could like on top of me right now."

“I can lay next to you.”

"I fell off a ship," John said, reaching for him.

“I thought you smelled like open water.” Sherlock lays next to him, being careful of John.

John snorted. "Landed on the dock. Upset a few ribs. And my leg. I'll be fine."

“Mm three.. no four broken ribs and a sprained knee?” Sherlock smiles softly.

"Just cracked ribs, thankfully. Maybe even just bruised. But yes, doctor, the knee is sprained," he said, gently kissing Sherlock's brow.

Sherlock nuzzles him gently, kissing him softly.

"Darling," John sighed against him, kissing him back, despite his swollen lips. "As soon as I'm well, I'm making love to you til the world falls apart."

“Mm you’re my world and you seem to be in a few pieces already.” Sherlock breathes.

"That's.... Poetry," John said, impressed. "Unless you're cleverly trying to tell me I missed my chance," he grinned.

“Never. I’d wait lifetimes for you.” Sherlock smiles softly.

It was unbelievable that he'd earned this beautys love -- and that, twice. "God," he sighed at the sight of him, "I want to live."

“One breath at a time.” Sherlock gently brushed his hair back.

"Kiss me," John pleaded.

Sherlock leaned in and kisses him soundly. “Breathe, John. Your promised you’d come back to me. Breathe.” Sherlock whispers, sounding far away as he kisses him again.

"Always," John promised, stealing as many kisses as he could. "I will always always come back to you, beautiful."

Sherlock holds onto him carefully as they kiss, wanting all of John. “My John.”

"Yours. For as long as you'll have me."

“Always. Always, John. Always.”

John stroked his arm and muttered softly. "Gonna sleep for a little bit now."

“I’ll be here.” Sherlock nods.

The next morning John woke in terrible pain. He'd been in pain like this before, however, and knew he could hack it. "Darling?" he called.

“Coming.” Sherlock comes in, carrying a breakfast tray. “You’re going to eat and you’re going to take medicine. You were whimpering in your sleep from the pain.” Sherlock sets the tray on the bed.

"As if that's the weirdest thing I've ever done in my sleep," John chortled, trying to sit up.

“Easy.” Sherlock helps him get propped up, using pillows to help him get comfortable. “Not the weirdest no.” He chuckles and sits on the bed.

John took his pill without complaint, then eyed the beautiful spread. "Sherlock... You're incredible."

“Is it okay?” Sherlock blushes, watching to make sure John eats so he can heal.

"Yes. You have a Midas touch," John grinned, stroking his cheek. "Mycroft led me to believe I'd have to dress you and shower you and feed you myself, but you're... You're beyond capable."

Sherlock nuzzles into John’s touch. “He’s never thought I was capable of anything. What he doesn’t realize is that he took everything over before I could show I could handle it.”

John nodded. "I presume he's also seen you during your hardest times."

“Unfortunately. He’ll never let me live that down either.” Sherlock sighs.

"It probably frightened him... Made an impression. I think he genuinely cares about you. He's just no good at showing it."

Sherlock just shrugs. “He has a funny way of showing it. Eat. It’s getting cold. Cold food is icky unless it’s supposed to be cold.” He makes a face.

John complied, smiling at Sherlock like he knew something Sherlock didn't.

“What?” Sherlock raises a brow. “What’s that look?”

John shrugged. “He let us be together. Just because you wanted him to. I think that's a pretty clear cut way of showing it."

“Because I told him I’d owe him.” Sherlock shrugs.

John kicked at him uselessly from under the covers. "Stop rejecting your brother's embarrassing but sincere affection. He told me shit, you know, before he let me come here. Threatened my life if I made you unhappy. Made me sign things."

“Oh..” Sherlock blushes.

"You're not alone. And you're not unlovable. I hate that you believe that about yourself."

Sherlock frowns and looks down at his hands.

John tugged a curl. "What's this now?"

Sherlock shrugs, not believing what John said.

"Come on. Talk to me."

“No one.. No one has ever loved me like you. I don’t know what to do with it. This.. this feeling.”

"I've never loved anyone like I love you. I don't know what to do with it either. I guess we'll have to figure it out together."

Sherlock blushes and nods, looking at John again. “Okay.”

John cleared his throat. "So much for going slow and dating, I guess."

“We’ve never been normal, John. Why would this be any different?” Sherlock smiles a bit.

John smiled. "I used to be normal. And then I came down with a badly handled case of the queers."

“Mm poor thing.” Sherlock kisses his cheek.

John should've know the painkillers had hold of him from the lack of pain he felt. He shoved his breakfast tray to the side and took hold of Sherlock’s dressing gown to haul him close and kiss him. "Want to see your face every morning. Want the world to leave us alone so I don't have to worry. Just want to concentrate on you forever."

“Please. Please, John. Just us. Only us.” Sherlock whimpers and kisses John deeply, holding onto him gently.

"I'm going to stop this, Sherlock," John muttered against his lips. "All of it. No more murder and blood, and waking death. I want to live again. With you."

“Let me help. Please. I’ll do anything you need. I found you. I can find anyone.” Sherlock traces his tongue around John’s lips.

That was weird. John loved it. "I have to keep you safe. If you aren't safe, there's no point to any of it. You're the only thing that matters."

“We’re a good team. We can do this.” Sherlock kisses at the corner of Johns mouth.

"I want to.." John muttered, stoned on the painkillers, "I want to marry you. When everything's over. Want to marry you."

Sherlock blushes brightly and nods. “Alright.” He says softly, knowing a high person when he sees one. “How about a nap and we’ll talk about it after?” He cuddles John gently.

"I just woke up. What have you been doing with yourself this morning? Sauteing earlobes?"

“Mostly watching you sleep.” Sherlock blushes a bit.

"Oh, well, that must have been fascinating," John joked. "Learn anything?"

“You’re always fascinating.” Sherlock smiles. “And you snore when you’re in deep sleep which you hardly ever do.”

John smiled. "Only when I'm on my back. I can sleep on my side so I won't wake you up."

“I don’t mind. I don’t sleep much and when I do I’m to tired to notice anything.” Sherlock smiles and shrugs.

John stroked his hands up and down Sherlock's back. "What did we do in the cabin to entertain each other when you were laid up?"

“You read to me.” Sherlock smiles.

"That's right," John smiled. "I read to you so you wouldn't be bored and I wouldn't be obsessed with licking your thighs."

“Mmhmm.” Sherlock giggles.

John tickled his cheek with his good finger. The painkillers were making him a bit merry and daffy. "Is your father still alive? Who do I ask for your hand?"

“Oh.” Sherlock blushes and smiles. “Yeah. Both of my parents are alive.”

"Will your father tell me no?" John frowned. "He wouldn't be wrong to. After everything I did to you."

“He doesn’t know. Neither of them do. I haven’t talked to them in ages. I didn’t want them to know I was using.” Sherlock shrugs. “I don’t think they’d tell you no.”

John frowned, trying to think through the fuzz. "Why didn't you tell them you stopped using?"

“I didn’t know I was going to stop stop.” Sherlock hums.

"What about.. after you stopped?" John asked, struggling. "You were three months clean when we met."

“There were cases to keep me busy. I only decided to stay clean after I met you.” Sherlock says softly.

"You... You were clean in the cabin..." John winced. "Was tracking me keeping you clean?"

Sherlock nods. “You were fascinating. Are fascinating. Kept me so busy.”

"You thought I was... Dashing. Handsome. James Bond-y," he babbled, amusing himself.

“I did. I still do.” Sherlock smiles softly.

"I stared at your mouth a full hour when I got your surveillance photo."

“Really? What did you think?”

"I thought it was the most beautiful mouth I'd ever seen. Thought you were... Well, fascinating. Unusual."

Sherlock smiles and kisses him softly. “I suppose we were obsessed with each other from the beginning.”

"Mmmmmm," John purred to him. "Meant to be. Destined."

“That’s right. My John. Made for me.” Sherlock smiles against his lips.

John kissed him softly until holding himself aloft was too much for his ribs. "Alright, love. Tell me a story. Tell me about your first case."

“Mm my first case was when I was 9.” Sherlock hums.

“Precious.”

“The neighbor lady’s cat had been missing for a week. She was distraught over it. I told her I’d find it.”

"you really like finding lost pets."

“I like animals. They don’t say mean things and they don’t complain when you want a cuddle.”

"Why don't you have pets?"

“The drugs. I would be out if it for days. I wouldn’t be able to take care of it.”

"Oh, yes, of course," John said, nuzzling him and giving him soft kisses.

Sherlock smiles softly, kissing him back gently as he Holmes him close carefully.


	9. Chapter 9

A few days later John was well on the path to healing, no small thanks to Sherlock who was glued to his side almost constantly.

John was eating breakfast, reading the morning in paper. He still ached and had to move slowly, which kept him grounded for when Sherlock went out on cases and this was clearly making him a little grumpy.

“So who should wear the white dress?” Sherlock hums as he sips his tea, wondering if John remembers.

"Hm?" John asked, glancing up."For-- sorry, who should wear what for what?"

“For the wedding of course. You asked so I thought I’d let you decide.” Sherlock chuckles.

"I asked.. what, sorry? For a wedding?"

“You asked me to marry you. You said you loved me like you’ve never loved anyone before. That you wanted to concentrate on me forever.” Sherlock grins.

John stared at him, helplessly enchanted by the glowing happiness that emanated out of the otherwise sullen boy. "I said that did I?" John started to grin. "When did I say that?"

“A few days ago. You were very keen on it.” Sherlock chuckles.

"A few days ago? When I was on oxycodone?"

“Mmhmm.”

John chuckled softly. "That doesn't surprise me," he said, but he didn't elaborate before he turned back to his newspaper.

“Good. When you propose for real I expect something a little more sophisticated that the ramblings of high man.” Sherlock smirks and goes to the bathroom, turning on the shower.

After Sherlock had gotten well soaped and was moving onto his hair, the bathroom door opened. It took a few minutes for John to disrobe, but as soon as he was naked, he climbed in the tub behind Sherlock, took him by the hips and pulled him back against him.

“Mm in the mood for a mid morning tryst, Doctor?” Sherlock rocks back against him.

"Missed you," John purred against his shoulder. His body was still too damaged for the real fun he wanted to have, but he could get Sherlock off and that would be quite satisfying for the time being.

Sherlock turns and kisses John. “Let me take you to bed and suck you off. You won’t have to do anything.” He mumbles against John’s lips.

"Mmm,"John purred against his lips. "You just got in the shower. Want to wash you... Maybe fondle you up a bit."

“Then I can have your cock down my throat?” Sherlock licks at his lips.

John nuzzled him. "You can have whatever you want, darling." He pulled him as tight as he could without hurting himself and muttered, "Jesus, how did I resist you when I wasn't bashed up?"

“Mm I don’t know. Some rubbish about morals or something.” Sherlock rocks his hips back against John cheekily.

"Morals, hell. I wanted to make sure you knew what you wanted," John replied, stoking into Sherlock's cleft.

“You. I wanted you. I’ve always wanted you.” Sherlock mumbles, rocking back against him.

John kissed him savagely, wishing he could squeeze him tighter, but his ribs were aching just from standing up. "Come on, beautiful, let's get you clean."

Sherlock nods and washes them both, being extra gentle with John.

John kissed him and watched him closely, something on his mind. He took his time washing Sherlock's hair, being tender and indulgent with him.

Sherlock relaxes into John’s hands, mewling softly as John washes his hair.

John kissed over Sherlock's neck and shoulders, but was beginning to feel his ribs give out. He rinsed the soap away and took a deep breath. "Think it's time to lie down."

Sherlock nods and gets the dried off, taking John back to bed.

John recline back on the bed and admired Sherlock's svelte form and rising cock from his position. "Pretty," he muttered. "So damn pretty..."

Sherlock crawls up the bed, kissing up John’s legs as he goes.

John was a map of battery, but Sherlock navigated him well. John reached for his wet hair and rumpled his curls playfully.

Sherlock smiles up at him, kissing over his cock gently.

Despite his pains, John's cock started to swell. It made him a bit lightheaded, seeing Sherlock's perfect lips on his manhood.

Sherlock slowly kisses up his cock, swirling his tongue around the top.

"Christ," John gasped, his cock rising to meet Sherlock's mouth.

Sherlock slowly takes John into his mouth.

"I don't deserve you," John panted breathless, "my god, I don’t deserve you."

Sherlock bobs his head slowly.

"Beautiful mouth," John gasped. "You feel so good." He tried to curl his hips, but had to stop on account of his damage. He grunted. "How deep can you swallow, sweetheart?"

Sherlock looks up at John and smirks, taking him all the way down.

John made a sound from deep in his belly, his cock as hard as it had ever been before. "God, baby..." he panted.

Sherlock moans and swallows around him.

John kept his fingers in Sherlocks hair, gently pulling on it as he bobbed. He wanted to thrust and he hates having to lie still, but Sherlock knew what he was doing and sped up when he no doubt felt John's cock swell further. "Oh, close, darling, I'm going to come..."

Sherlock whines, wanting John’s come. He plays with his balls and takes his cock down his throat.

John was a bit slower off the mark than usual for his injuries, bit when his orgasm struck it was just as powerful. The first syllable of Sherlock's name on his lips, he erupted, sport after spurt down Sherlock's throat.

Sherlock moans and swallows greedily.

John loved watching what Sherlock didn't catch pool against his lips. He was breathing hard, which was painful now that the adrenaline had worn off. He sighed. "C'mere, sweetheart..."

Sherlock slowly pulls off his cock and lays next to him.

John gathered him in his arms as best he could then stroked down his side to investigate the state of his cock.

Sherlock whimpers softly, cock hard and leaking.

"Oh, sweetheart," John cooed, pulling him close and folding his hand around Sherlock's cock. "What do you need?"

“Just touch me.” Sherlock kisses him, rocking into his hand.

John kissed his cum wet lips and squeezed his cock adoringly. "You are utterly precious," he insisted.

“Yours. All yours.” Sherlock whimpers.

"Beautiful. Perfect. Brilliant. Stunning. Clever. Sweet. Charming. Brave. Sexy. Gorgeous. Funny. Adorable. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy..." John purred against his mouth as he kissed him and pulled his cock.

Sherlock cries out and comes hand unable to hold back as John compliments him, coming over John’s hands.

John kissed his mouth and swallowed his groans, delighting in his mess even though they'd just showered.

Sherlock kisses him back tenderly, trembling a bit from the force of his orgasm.

"God, you're something else," John said, gently releasing his spent member. "I want to spend all day making you come ..." He paused as an idea hit him, "Or spend all day making you want to come, but not letting you."

“Mm it’s not my fault you can make me come in an instant.” Sherlock kisses along John’s jaw. “I guess you’ll just have to train me to hold it.”

John's spent cock gave a little leap at the thought. "Really? Would you let me? Does the idea excite you?" he asked as he nibbled Sherlock's ear.

“God, yes.” Sherlock groans, feeling his cock already start to fill out again.

John kissed and nipped at him, wanting nothing more than to roll on top of him and really have his way with him. He pulled him snugly against him an buried his face in his neck. "I want to do everything with you. Every dirty, naughty thing I can think of..."

“I want it. I want all of it. Every dirty nasty naughty thing. The more depraved the better.” Sherlock purrs.

John kissed him passionately. He squeezed him tight and didn't care about his ribs. He kissed him and kissed him, until was able to pull himself back enough to pant against his mouth, "I need to heal bloody faster..."

“Soon. You’ll be better soon. Then I’ll let you fuck me over any surface you want.” Sherlock kisses along his jaw and neck.

"This bed, sweetheart," John said, cradling his face to better kiss him. "I want to fuck you in this bed to start -- properly. The way I couldn't in the cabin."

Sherlock blushes and nods. “Okay.” He kisses him back adoringly.

John stroked his fingers through Sherlock's curls and kissed him til he was brought back to a subject that had been troubling him. "You, um. So, what do you think, then? My silly idea that I had ... While I was high...?

“I’d marry you in a heartbeat.” Sherlock nuzzles him.

“You.. Really?”

“Really really.”

John nuzzled him gently, contemplatively. "Oh... So... Will you marry me, then?"

“Obviously.” Sherlock smiles and kisses him gently.

"Yes?" John pushers his thigh between Sherlock's and kissed him up. "You'll marry me? Say you'll marry me. I'll give you anything you want, darling, anything," he babbled.

“Yes. I’ll marry you. Today, tomorrow, next week, next month, next year. Just tell me when and where and I’ll be there.” Sherlock kisses John, rocking against his leg gently.

John smiled into his kiss and murmured, "Maybe no ceremony until we can both stand for hours without agony..." He took hold of Sherlock's bum and pulled him tight against his thigh. "Do you want a ceremony?"

“Mm I don’t care if we just sign papers and go on a two week sex holiday.” Sherlock smiles and nips at his lips, pushing his bum back into John’s hand.

"Jesus, you're insatiable," John praised, lifting his thigh gently to rub Sherlock between his legs.

Sherlock moans and arches, rocking against his leg. “You love it.”

"I love *you*," John insisted, nibbling against his neck. "And I'm going to bloody marry you."

“My husband.” Sherlock moans.

"Husband," John purred, trying the word out for himself as he slipped a hand between Sherlock's cheeks and stroked the circle of his pucker. He could feel his old, homophobic self buck and rear at all this, but Sherlock felt so good in his arms, he couldn't help but want to make him happy.

“Mm you made a face..” Sherlock hums, feeling the slight change in John’s expression pressed against his neck.

"Mmm?" John pulled back to look at him.

“You pulled a face. Why?” Sherlock nuzzles him.

"Did I?" John shrugged. "Just never thought I'd be saying 'my husband'..."

“Oh. Neither did I.” Sherlock blushes.

"that's because you're very silly," John purred, kissing his forehead and down his nose.

“Seems like I just had to wait for you.” Sherlock smiles and nuzzles him.

"I think we're ridiculously well matched," John said, kissing him.

“Mm so do I.” Sherlock kisses him back.

John kissed him and held him close for some time. He could have spent the rest of the day there, but Sherlock’s text alert sounded.

Sherlock groans and reaches for his phone, opening the text.

The text read: "new corpse, interesting hystamine response if you're interested. Love to see you  -M"

“Mm it’s Molly. She has a body. And she wants to see me.” Sherlock hums.

John made a small grunt, frowning softly. "Sherlock," he asked, "are you bisexual?"

“What? Oh no. She’s a pathologist. When interesting corpses come in she let’s me know. She’s been trying to be in a relationship with me since we met. I’ve kept her at arms length.” Sherlock nuzzles John.

John smiled. "I know. I'm just curious if you're bisexual or not. You don't have to tell me, if you don't want to. I just... I was a bit curious as to why she hasn't taken the hint."

“I never really thought about it. I don’t really have a preference I suppose.” Sherlock shrugs. “She’s just been more of a friend then anything.”

"So, I can't relax my guard around women, then? They're just as likely to steal you away from me?"

“No one can take me from you.” Sherlock kisses him.

"so I should let you go play with corpses with Molly with no fear of you two running off together?" He teased.

“Mm I don’t think I want to let you be on your own yet. You may do something stupid and hurt yourself.” Sherlock hums.

John chuckled. "Go. I hate the idea of keeping g you grounded."

“You’re not. I like being with you.” Sherlock pouts.

John kissed his prettily pouting lip. "I certainly won't make you, darling."

“Mm..” Sherlock kisses him back. “Maybe just for a little bit?” He mumbles.

"Whatever you want."

“I’ll bring lunch back.” Sherlock smiles.

"Mmmm, fish and chips?"

“Yes, Sir.” Sherlock grins and kisses him before getting up.

John reached out to trail his fingertips over Sherlock's beautiful nudity and watched him get dressed. "Hey," he said, when Sherlock had his clothes on, "I love you."

Sherlock blushes and smiles, going to kiss him again. “I love you, too.”

"I can't wait to be your husband,' John said between kisses, "I want to be an excellent husband to you."

“Mm you will.” Sherlock grins and kisses him again before pulling back to finish getting dressed.

John reluctantly got out of bed after Sherlock left. He ached around the house, tidying what he could, tutting at Sherlock's slovenliness. Then his phone went off, three texts in a row. John unlocked the screen and saw three texts from Mycroft hat made his heart run cold: "Cell not eliminated." "Active in London; threat rate high." "Time for drastic measures."  
John hobbled to the window and saw the black limo pull up. He procured his favourite handgun and made his way to the car. "I have to be back before Sherlock gets home," he told Mycroft. "I don't want him to know. And I proposed to him. He said yes."  
Mycroft just closed his eyes and lets the groan speak for itself.

“John! I have food!” Sherlock calls out as he bounds up the stairs with the first and chips. 

John was looking both better and worse than he had in days. His frame was straighter, his gaze was sharper, but his skin was ashy. "How was your corpse adventure?" he asked.

“Good. Anaphylaxis from hair dye.” Sherlock smiles and sets the take away bag down. “You’ve been out.” He frowns.

John nodded, his smile tight. "Just a little exercise. Did you, um... Say anything to Molly?"

“Liar.” Sherlock frowns and pulls out the containers from the bag. “I told her I’m engaged...”

"Engaged?" Molly laughed as if it was a joke. "To whom?"

“John. The man I brought to the pub.” Sherlock hums as he looks over the body.

"What? Him? Do you even know him?" But then the gobsmacked look on her face gave way to something unexpectedly cagey. "Oh! Is it for a case? Is he a suspect or something?"

“No.” Sherlock frowns. “I love him. We’re getting married. That’s what people in love do.”

Molly struggled to keep the internal collapsing off her face. "But you only just met him. And he's a ... He's a man!"

“I’ve known him nearly three months. And I know he’s a man. It’s not like that’s a secret.” Sherlock shrugs.

Molly's face goes through subtle tremors of confusion and pain. "Three months isn't very long... Sherlock, I've never known you to even date anyone, how can you be sure-- there's something so cold in him! He was so odd..."

“John is a retired military Captain and surgeon. They’re known to be a bit detached from people they don’t know.” Sherlock shrugs.

"Oh. Well. That's very impressive... Congratulations, Sherlock. It sounds like you... Really care for him."

“Thank you. I do.” Sherlock smiles and pulls on gloves. “What about you? Lestrade was very happy to be in your presence at the pub.”

Molly clearly wasn't listening. She made a few meeps and stutters before she managed to say, "excuse me a moment," and flee the room.

Sherlock frowns as he watches her leave.

BACK TO PRESENT...

"How did she take it?" John asked.

“Not good. She left and didn’t come back. I wrote out my notes for her on a pad of paper and left.” Sherlock frowns.

John winced. "That's too bad. She seemed like a nice girl. You're just too handsome for your own good, you know."

Sherlock huffs a laugh. “Eat. It’s getting cold.”

John's reached out and stroked Sherlock's sharp cheekbone with his thumb. "What are you doing tomorrow night?"

“Nothing that I know of. Why?” Sherlock nuzzles into John’s hand.

"I want to take you out. Proper date. Somewhere fancy and so reputable, there's no way you'll be able to get out of letting me pay the bill with a clever deduction."

“Oh.” Sherlock blushes and smiles. “Okay.”

"Any cases come up?'

“No. Not yes. Though I haven’t talked to Mrs. Hudson. She takes messages from potential clients for me.”

John nodded. "I probably have to go out for the rest of the day. I don't want you getting too bored."

“Why? Go where?” Sherlock frowns.

John shook his head. "Just a few loose ends to tie up. Shouldn't be too much trouble. But I may be out late."

“I can’t go?” Sherlock frowns.

"No," John said, no room for argument.

Sherlock gets up, leaving his half eaten food at the table, and goes to the couch. He flops down onto the couch dramatically, setting in for a strop.

John frowned, watching him. "What are you doing? Are you having a nap?"

“I don’t know why you think I’m not capable of helping you.” Sherlock turns with his back to John.

"I know you're capable. But the only thing I care about is keeping you safe."

“I want you safe too!”

"Unfortunately, that's not an option right now." John rose and made his way to the sofa. He sat on the coffee table and stroked the curve of Sherlock's waist. "This is the last of it. I promise. Your brother and I just have to mop up a few more messes and then it's happily ever after, solving cases and chasing down criminals, alright?"

Sherlock slowly rolls over to face John. “Promise?”

"Yeah," John smiled. "And vacations in a particular cabin in France."

“Mm alright.” Sherlock smiles a bit even though he’s trying to stay pouty.

John snorted at him. "Still sullen. What? You need lots of attention?" He started to crawl on top of his younger lover.

“Always.” Sherlock smiles finally and wraps his arms around John.

"Poor little darling," John cooed, kissing his eyebrow and his nose. "Love and attention deprived for so long..."

“So long..” Sherlock mumbles, nuzzling John.

"But now I'm going to spoil you, and you'll be twice as obnoxious," he joked.

“Obviously.” Sherlock grins and kisses him.

John kissed his mouth softly. "I'm going to leave it all behind Sherlock. The killing, the work. Once we're married. Just you and me."

Sherlock smiles softly and nods. “Probably should give you this then..” He pulls out a ring from his breast pocket.

John pulled back to look at it. "What's... What's this?"

“A ring.” Sherlock chuckles, having picked it up while he was out.

John inspected it closely. "Classy little number," he praised. "Which finger should I put it on?"

“Left ring finger I suppose.” Sherlock shrugs. 

"Oh, I see...! Wedding ring, is it?" John asked, slipping it on and thinking he was very funny. "Perfect fit. Why am I not surprised?"

Sherlock smiles and kisses him. “I’m glad you like it.”

"Thank you, baby. I love it."

Sherlock blushes and smiles happily.

John kissed Sherlock long and dreamy. "Wish I could stay in with you all day." He glanced at the clock. "But I have to go."

“Mm fineeeeeeee..” Sherlock sighs dramatically.

John cradled Sherlock's head and peppered his pouting lips with kisses. "Try not to die of petulance before I get back, my precious petal prince?"

“Yeah yeah.” Sherlock chuckles softly and kisses him back.


	10. Chapter 10

John realized he was in way over his head. The texts that kept his mobile buzzing were getting darker and more unbearable. Sherlock was in their crosshairs. He was cornered like a wounded fox and the only thing he gave a damn about in this world was under threat.  
"Mycroft," John panted into his phone as he climbed the stairs to the roof of Bart's, "we're at worst case scenario. They're going to hurt Sherlock. I'm going to the roof."

“Shit. Alright. Everything is in place.” Mycroft runs his hand over his face. “Sherlock is coming.” He frowns.

"What? Where is he? Bloody hell, I don't want him to be a part of this!"

“It’s to late. He’s there. We’re trying to find the snipers.”

John swallowed. He was on the roof and he went to the edge. He couldnt see Sherlock from where he was. He took out his cellphone and called.

“John? Where are you?” Sherlock frowns.

"I'm..." John stalled. "How close are you to Bart's? Can you get to A--- street and M--- street?"

“I’m only a street away. What’s the matter?” Sherlock frowns, headed towards the front of Bart’s.

"Just, my love, I need you to-- I see you! Stop! Sherlock! Stop where you are!"

Sherlock stops and frowns. “Where are you?” He asks, looking around.

John couldn't breathe for a moment, then he choked, "Look up."

Sherlock frowns and looks up to the roof of Bart’s. “John.” He says his name as if he’s punched in the gut.

"Don't move! Sweetheart, don't move, I need you to stay where I can see you, ok?" This was dangerous. He didn't trust Sherlock to run home if he knew what John was doing, but if the snipers suspected him of trying something, they might shoot regardless. He needed Sherlock stock still and nonthreatening. God, he hadn't wanted Sherlock to see this. The plan was that Sherlock would open the door to a sombre faced Mycroft who would deliver the news. Now, Sherlock would have to see it, uncensored, raw, and believable. John didn't know what he was going to say until he was saying it. "Sherlock, I lied to you. I-- I wanted you to be someone who could love me, so I lied. It was rape. In the army, what I did -- unquestionable rape, dozens of men , and I got away with it and I don't deserve you and I would hurt you sooner or later, and I can't do that. This is the only way, Sherlock. This is right."  
He was sobbing by the end of it. It wasn't true, but it would make Sherlock's life easier in the long run. And, god, John hadnt faced the ramifications of this. That Sherlock may be safe, but forever lost to him. "God, I love you," he sobbed, more tears and mucus than sound. "I'm so sorry."

Sherlock trembles where he stands. “No. No John. Don’t do this. I don’t believe it. None of it. Please. Just stay there. I’ll come get you. We’ll work it out. It’s going to be fine. Please!” He begs.

"Stay put!" John roared. Mycroft's men weren't in place yet. This had to work and the (I forgot what country is after him) had to believe it. They had to believe he was dead or Sherlock would always be in danger. "It's true. I'm confessing, Sherlock. You I know I have it in me -- I told you I just took what I wanted. So, this is my... Note, I guess. Aw, love, why didn't you just stay home..."

“John, please. You don’t have to do this. It’s not the answer. Please. I love you. So much. Please.” Sherlock begs.

"You deserve better. You deserve so much better, Sherlock. You deserve everything..." At last, the bicyclist, his cue was in place. "I love you. Please be happy. I'd give my life for you to be happy..." He winced. "I'm so sorry, Sherlock. I love you. Goodbye." With that, he dropped his phone and flung himself off the roof.

“JOHN!” Sherlock screams and rushes forward but he’s hit by a cyclist. When he gets up there’s a mob of people. “John.. John..” He stumbles towards the people. “Please.. He’s my friend.. My fiancé..” He pushes through and falls to his knees as he sees John’s body on the sidewalk.

John was grateful the mob kept Sherlock away from him. It meant Sherlock's hyper intelligence couldn't get its paws on the details it needed to know John was actually still alive. When he arrived at Mycroft's safe house, the two men shared a glance and acknowledged how horribly off the rails their plan had gone.  
"Keep an eye on him tonight," John offered morosely.  
"Tonight and every night," Mycroft replied.

After a confused Mrs Hudson opened the door, Mycroft ascended the stairs to Sherlock's home and knocked.

Sherlock is curled up in John’s chair, having used his hidden stash. “Go away.” He mumbles.

"Oh, dear," Mycroft muttered softly, creeping into the flat. "You had reserves, did you?" He was more disappointed in himself than Sherlock.

“You has reserves, did you?” Sherlock says mockingly, face puffy and blotchy from sobbing.

Very carefully, Mycroft approached and asat opposite his brother. It had only been a night since John's fall. "I cannot tell you how sorry I am," he said gently. "I know how much he meant to you."

“You didn’t. You couldn’t. Caring isn’t an advantage.” Sherlock mumbles.

Mycroft was terrible with these things. He sat mutely for several long minutes, staring at the Carnage of his brother. Eventually, he said, "We found this... In his pocket."  
He hadn't wanted to do this, but John insisted. He wondered if the man was idiotic or psychopathic, but John refused to change his mind.  
Mycroft extended his hand and in it was a small, battered, antique box.

Sherlock frowned and tools the box in his slightly shaking one, opening it slowly.

Inside was a ring. Even stoned, Sherlock could deduce it was a family heirloom, probably something given to a great grandfather after graduation from medical school. There was a small card that said, "not a traditional engagement ring, but it means a lot to me and I want you to have it."

Sherlock stares at the rings for a few mins before laughing. His laugh was one of hysterics, nearly manic.

Mycroft closed his eyes to shore up against his disturbance. It was powerful. "Sherlock, stop," he said curtly.

“I can’t believe you let him do that. You broke your promise.” Sherlock snaps, violent mood swings.

"I...? What promise?"

“To keep John safe.”

"The bargain was to keep you safe, Sherlock. Not him."

“Keeping him safe is keeping me safe!”

"We were prepared to defend him against the assassins, Sherlock, there was nothing we could do about.... About suicide."

“So you’re sure that’s what it is?” He frowns. 

"Sherlock.... It all... Well, it makes sense, doesn't it? You saw him. The nightmares, the PTSD, the guilt."

“No it doesn’t make sense. Why would he want to have a life with me? Why would he have this ring on him when he jumped? What kind of person plans a life with someone and then flings themselves off a building? It makes no sense!”

Mycroft sighed and leaned forward. "There is a clinic in Edinburgh, Sherlock. They specialize in addiction and trauma. I would very much appreciate it if you would consider going. You are asking questions I am not qualified to answer. They are. They can help."

“Oh good. Just ship me off like mummy and daddy did when I get to difficult.” Sherlock rolls his eyes.

Mycrofts face pinched like a string purse. "What do you want me to do, Sherlock? Tell me. I don't know what to do and I don't want to lose you to this."

“I’m already gone..” Sherlock curls up away from him.

Mycroft didn't have the heart to call him out on his theatrics. "We are holding a memorial in three days time. I hope you'll come."

Sherlock just nods.

Mycroft rose. He went to the table where the detritus of Sherlock's drug use lay. He picked up the syringe and the empty baggy and folded them up in a handkerchief. "Do try to stay alive until then. Please."

“Only because you asked..” Sherlock mumbles.

The memorial was small, and centered around the plain, humble pot that housed John's ashes. The pastor of the low roofed church spoke generically, trying and failing to muster feeling.  
There were four other people there, other than Sherlock and Mycroft. An elderly woman and a middle aged woman who both shared John's features, bit neither of them cried. Then a young man with dark chocolate curls, with a sweet, young face and an army bearing. Next to him was a fierce young woman with a pixie cut who looked bored to tears.

Sherlock is silent as he looked at the urn. The ring on the chain around his neck felt like a lead weight. He couldn’t bring himself to put it on his finger. He has sobered up somewhat and managed to dress himself in a black suit even though he looked like he hadn’t slept in days. He hadn’t.

When the preacher finished with his platitudes, he offered those present an opportunity to speak.

Sherlock looks at the tiny gathering of people, wondering if anyone has anything to say.

No one moved. The preacher seemed relieved, and with a few trite words, thanked everyone and brought it to a close. The cheese and crackers that were provided in the hall all drew them like a silent herd.  
Mycroft had easily deduced who everyone was and had further deduced that he and Sherlock were a great curiosity to everyone else. In fact, Mycroft hadn't had his first nibble of Gouda before the woman with curly blonde hair practically pounced on Sherlock. "Where did you get that ring?" she snapped, scrabbling at the chain on his neck.

Sherlock grabbed her wrist so tight it was sure to bruise. “My dead fiancé. If you so much as look at it I’ll break your fucking arm.” He growls and pushes her off him, in no mood to play nice.

"He was my brother, you bastard! That was my grandfather's ring!"  
"Sherlock, please," Mycroft pleaded softly.  
The curly haired man went very quiet, but watched what was unfolding with great interest.

“He gave it to me. I’ll die before anyone else has it.” Sherlock hisses.

"It wasn't his to give away! He didn't have any--"  
"Harriet," her mother put a hand on her arm to stop her raging. "It's fine, dear. Its--" She gave up and simply turned to Sherlock, "I do apologise. John's death has been very hard on us. I'm Carolyn, John's mother. This is his sister, Harriet. I wish we could have met under better circumstances. It seems you two were close."

Sherlock nods, holding the ring tight in his hand. “I’m sorry..” He says quietly, not really sure what he’s apologizing for but he’s seen people do it at these things before.

Carolyn gave him a watery smile. "Perhaps we could sit over coffee sometime. I would love to know more about my son."  
"Know anything, more like," Harriet grumbled behind her.

“I would love to.” Sherlock nods to Carolyn before shooting a look at Harriet.

Harriet ignored the pointed expression.  
As the Watsons took their leave, Mycroft leaned close and said of the man with brown curls, "Adam Walker," in case Sherlock hadn't yet deduced for himself.

Sherlock just nods, not knowing what to feel towards the man that looked like a caricature of himself.

Walker seemed just as confused about how to behave, even though his friend was clearly eager to leave.  
Mycroft waited to see what his brother would do.

“Was it true? We’re the accusations true? I want to know for myself. Not for any other reason.” Sherlock asks Walker right out. “Did he do what you accused him of?”

Adam's face went through a series of colors, first white, then grey, then pink. "I dont... I don't know, man, I don't know what you're talking about..."

“Yes you do. You know exactly what I’m talking about. I only care for me. I need to know for myself. You’ve already made the accusations. I’ve read the reports and the testimony. I’ve read your exact words. All I need to know is if you told the truth or not. Just a yes or no.” Sherlock presses.

"Hey, back off, spastic! This is a memorial! His mom and sister are standing right there; don't bring this shit up! Leave him alone!" Adam's fiery companion erupted in defensive Scottish, before taking Adam's hand and marching him out of the hall.

“I guess that confirms it was a lie then.” Sherlock snaps.

Adam hunched his shoulders into his denim coat while his friend flipped him off before they got in the car.  
Mycroft raised his eyebrows at his brother. While he didn't approve of Sherlock's scene-making, his little brother always had an ability to make people reveal their tells. He just hoped that Sherlock's emotional state prevented him from picking up on them. The last thing he needed was his brother investigating this.  
Sherlock found Harriet at his elbow almost immediately. "What the bloody hell was that about, then?"

“Your brother was a doctor in the army. That man made false accusations against him about sexual misconduct. Your brother was disgraced and later shot.” Sherlock frowns.

A muscle in Harry's jaw flickered and she was about to say something, when Carolyn made a gurgling, sobbing sound. "Oh, you bastard!" Harry said. "Did you really think to yourself 'Ill go to a memorial this morning and make everything worse?' Who the hell did my brother become that he would be with someone like you?" she snapped, before tending to her mother, hurrying her to their car.

“You’re the ones that wanted to know more..” Sherlock shrugs.

Mycroft cleared his throat. "Sherlock, perhaps... Mummy invited us up to the country... Perhaps we could take a week or two away..."

“Why? I can still find drugs in the country.” Sherlock rolls his eyes.

"Yes," Mycroft conceded darkly, "but you'd be with family."

“Fine..” Sherlock says after a while. He looks at the urn. “Who gets to keep him?” He nearly whispers.

"The family has it, Sherlock," Mycroft said, apprehensive that his brother might do something strange.

Sherlock nods. “Can I have a minute with him? Alone..”

Mycroft was tempted to say something, but choked it down, before simply nodding and leaving the little alcove.

Sherlock goes to the urn and gently touches it. He picks it up carefully and hugs it close for a moment before putting it back down. He looks at it for another moment before leaving. “Have fun with mummy, brother.” Sherlock hums to Mycroft as he walks out.

Mycrofts eyes widened in alarm. "Dear God, what do you have planned?"

“Things.” Sherlock shrugs as the door closes behind him.


	11. Chapter 11

Carolyn sat at Speedys, gripping her cup of coffee, but not drinking it, waiting for the man who had claimed to be her only son's fiance.

Sherlock sweeps into Speedy’s, sitting down at the table. “First is like to apologize for my behavior before. It was inappropriate and it hurt you. I’m sorry for that.”

Carolyn was still as a stick bug trying to blend in with her environment. Then she gave a watery smile and said carefully, "Hello, Sherlock. Its-- it's alright."

“No. It’s not.” Sherlock frowns.

"Oh," Carolyn was uncomfortable. She didn't know how to address this strange man in front of her. "It's nice to... meet John's friends. I'm glad we weren't alone there."

Sherlock nods. “Will you.. Would you tell me what John was like? When he was younger?” 

"Oh, yes, I suppose. Of you'll tell me what he was like after the army," she smiled shyly, hopefully. "Can I get you a cup of tea?"

“Please.” Sherlock nods, smiling a bit.

Carolyn rose and went to the counter to buy another cup of English breakfast. She put it in front of Sherlock and muttered, "Needs a strong steep," before taking hold of her own. She cleared her throat and blundered, "I never knew my Johnny liked men... Like that."

“He didn’t either. It was something he discovered about himself while in the army.” Sherlock hums, wrapping his hands around the hot cup to warm them.

"Oh!" Carolyn's eyes went wide and she blushed. "He never... After he was discharged, he rather... He removed himself from the family."

“He has PTSD so cutting yourself off from your family can factor into that..” Sherlock hums.

Carolyn's eyes immediately welled up and turned pink. "Harriet visited him when he came back. She said he was a different person entirely. We, he didn't tell us anything. Not about his discharge or the PTSD or anything."

“I’m sorry..” Sherlock frowns.

"You said some very alarming things at the funeral," she said, finding her spine now that Sherlock was being kind. "About... That young man. And accusations he made against John."

“I did.” Sherlock nods.

"Well?" Carolyn's lips pursed. "Go on, then, I can take it."

“I think the accusations were false. The man got caught and used John as a scapegoat because he didn’t want to be seen as queer.” Sherlock frowns.

"How do you know they're false?"

“He felt guilty. No innocent victim comes to their abusers wake. He felt guilty for what happened to John because he set John on that path. He came back to the scene of the crime like a serial killer.”

Carolyn shook her head. " that doesn't mean anything. You could just as easily make a case that victims need closure. In fact, that makes more sense to me."

“In the report the stories were rehearsed. Nearly verbatim. Each situation exactly the same. John also always had a nurse on with him. The nurse never reported inappropriate behavior from John but the others had strokes against them for sexual misconduct.” Sherlock sighs, having gone through sealed records.  
“The evidence doesn’t look good for the accusers thus far but I want to be sure so I’m going to look into it further.”

Carolyn listened to him casually prattle about the details of her son's bizarre and disturbing misconduct and when be was done, her facade cracked and just started sobbing. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..…."

Sherlock frowns and takes her hand. “I’m sorry. I should t have said anything. I just make things worse.”

She shook her head and brought her napkin to her face to hide her tears. "We knew it was something... Something beyond the war. He was always an open, loving child, but when he returned, he stopped calling, visiting. He just disappeared."

“I’m sorry.” Sherlock frowns. “He.. He wasn’t ever very open with me. So don’t think that it was just you he kept out.”

Carolyn dried her face with her napkin and composed herself. "Im so sorry. This is all so shocking. That out Johnny had a fiance... A man... And these accusations. It's as if he'd been... Abducted and replaced by aliens!" She tried to laugh.

“I can’t even imagine what it’s like for you.” Sherlock smiles gently.

"How did you meet...? If you don't mind me asking."

“I’m a detective. I was working a case and it was snowing. I lost control of my vehicle and John saved me.”

"Did he?" Her lower lip was wobbling again. "That sounds like him. He was always so loving and helpful. A little hero."

Sherlock nods. “He saved me in so many ways.”

 

"Did he ever speak of us?”

“He mostly kept personal things to himself. He wasn’t a very big talker.”

"It was unbearable... He returned and wouldn't speak to either of us. We used to all be so close. After his father died, John was only seven, the three of us were inseparable. ... Do you believe... I only can't imagine he would have been ashamed to tell us he was .... Homosexual," she said carefully. "His sister is too, that couldn't possibly be why he hid from us..."

“John is very brave and courageous. But I don’t think he had the heart to tell you about the scandal.” Sherlock says softly.

"Is that why he...??" She couldn't bring herself to say it. "The scandal? Why he...?"

Sherlock frowns and gives a short nod. “It was a factor..”

"What were the other factors?"

“Mostly I think the PTSD.”

"Of course," Carolyn gasped. "Of course." She took a moment to tear apart the napkin in her hand. A few tears fell before she stopped tearing and dried her tears. "Was he good and loving to you?"

“Always.” Sherlock nods. “Every moment.”

"Oh. "He took his hand. "It's fine.. I guess, well my name is Sherlock Holmes. "

“Interesting name. Nice to meet you.” Greg shakes his hand. “Why has John brought you? I hope I didn’t interrupt something.”  
“He’s my assistant.” John grins.

Carolyn burst into tears again and despite its intensity, it passed swiftly and with a smile. "Did you ever get to see him with animals? So gentle. He came home bloodied once for fighting his peers off a bird with a broken wing. Brought the poor thing home with him and buried it himself, bless him. Then sterilised the whole house after, for fear of germs," she laughed warmly.

“That’s very John.” Sherlock chuckles softly. 

"I was afraid I made him too sensitive after his father died. Told him whenever he felt sad, to just ask for a hug. That got him into many scrapes."

“I think you did a wonderful job. You raised a good man.”

Carolyn sniffled. "Perhaps. A mother can't help but feel guilty when things end like this." She reached across the table and took Sherlock's hand. "Thank you so much for coming to speak with me. We have so many questions. I know you can't answer them all." Her eyelashes fluttered and she took a fortifying breath. "Do you have any questions for me?"

Sherlock squeezes her hand gently. “I just.. I want to know everything about him.”

Carolyn sniffled and smiled faintly. "Where to begin? Everything covers a lot, you know."

“I’ll take all the time you can spare.” Sherlock smiles softly.

Carolyn kept hold of his hand as she started out at the very beginning -- John's birth. Sherlock learned that John was an incredibly easy baby,but had developed dark moods in toddlerhood. He seemed to pass out of that stage, but it set in again and in a new way after his father's death. He was a very popular boy in high school and college. "I knew he was my best chance for children. Harry doesn't like them, but John... He would have been a brilliant father."

Sherlock nods. “I can be quite childish at times and he handled me.” He smiles softly.

"I may have noticed that about you," Carolyn teased warmly. "Did you two discuss children?"

“No we hadn’t. But if I were ever to have any they’d be with him.” Sherlock smiles.

"Too late now," Carolyn said, her despair popping up again. "I'm sorry. Youve lost as much as I have, I must remember to be kind."

“You deserve to have every feeling your having. Repressing then isn’t healthy.” Sherlock rubs his thumb over her knuckles.

"You sound like John," she laughed, more tears spilling out.

“I’m sorry.” Sherlock frowns and offers her a napkin for her tears.

"Don't apologize. It's good to know he had someone... Even if it is a man." She winced, "I didn't mean it like... Not like..." She shook her head, knowing she couldn't take it back.

“No I understand. Your relationship have all been heterosexual so it’s just a default for you. And you obvious wanted grandchildren so your son having a female partner would have made that easier. I know you didn’t mean it hurtfully. It’s okay.” Sherlock nods.

Carolyn covered her cheeks with her hands and took a moment. "Did you have any idea.... That he would do this? Did you sense it?"

“No clue what so ever.” Sherlock frowns deeply. “He proposed not even twenty four hours before he ju.. Before.”

Carolyn blinked at him. "Marriage is a lot of pressure, I suppose.... Especially if one has hidden shames...." Her brow furrowed in pained consideration.

“Exactly what I was thinking..” Sherlock sighs.

"That young man at the memorial... You said he was the one Johnny... Interfered with?"

Sherlock nods. “He was. I found it strange how he came. How he looked guilty. Not relived.”

"I can only imagine how complex a person's emotions might be either way. It's all very dramatic." She looked down her empty coffee cup. "If he agreed to lunch with me, would you join me?"

“I..” Sherlock bites his lip. “I would..”

'Please don't let me pressure you. I understand how uncomfortable the situation would be... Besides, I'm sure he wouldn't agree."

“If he does I want to be there to support you. I won’t say anything.”

"No, dear, I would encourage you to speak freely. Surely you want to speak to him as much as I do."

“I don’t think he’d want to speak with me. I basically called him a guilty liar at Johns wake..”

"So you'll give up that easily? Don't you want to know?"

“Of course I want to know. But if he knows I’m going to be there I doubt he’ll want to meet with you.”

Carolyn narrowed her eyes at him critically, just like he'd seen John do many times.

Sherlock eyes well up with tears as he sees John in John’s mother’s eyes.

"Courage, Sherlock," she said softly. "Have courage."

“I’m trying.” Sherlock nods.

"You're a brave lad,' Carolyn insisted knowingly. "John wouldn't have fallen for you if you weren't. Probably reckless and driven as well, when you aren't mourning."

Sherlock laughs and gives her a watery smile, trying to pull himself together.

"You know, his grandfather gave him that ring," she nodded to the item on the chain around Sherlock's neck, "with the understanding he would give it to his son. I think it's lovely he gave it to you as an engagement ring."

Sherlock nods and touches the ring gently. “I’m sorry I upset John’s sister over it.”

"Everything upsets Harry," Carolyn shrugged.

“Does She usually drink so heavily?”

Carolyn's eyebrows rose on delicate surprise. "Oh. I was hoping it wasn't noticeable. It's... Gotten worse. I don't imagine what has happened with John will do much to help."

“It’s not but I’m in the business of noticing.” Sherlock hums.

"Oh... What do you do?'

“I’m a consulting detective.”

"A...? Whom do you consult?"

“People consult me. They bring me their cases and I solve them.”

"A private investigator? Oh, John would have loved that!" She put her hands on her face and laughed softly.

“He certainly liked the stories.” He smiles softly.

"I imagine he did. Do you have any photos of the two of you? Any selfies? If it's not too personal, of course."

“I..” Sherlock frowns as he thinks. “No.. We didn’t take any..”

Carolyn's face fell. "Nothing? Not even when he proposed?"

“No..”

"How did he propose?"

“He told me that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me.”

"on one knee? At a romantic location?"

“In our flat.”

"You were already living together? Sherlock, darling, you must tell me everything from the beginning, please!"

Sherlock tells her that after his accident his leg was badly broken and John took care of him with his brilliant doctor skills. They soon fell for each other and John moved into Sherlock’s flat. He tells her the story of them.

Carolyn left with her mood elevated far beyond what it had been when they sat down. She was reluctant to release Sherlock's arm as they left the cafe and extracted many promises from him to meet again. "And we will speak to that young man," she said with conviction. "It's a mystery that needs solving."

“We’ll be in touch. I promise.” Sherlock smiles softly and nods.

Over the course of the next two weeks, Carolyn sent at least one charming little text a day. She was good with technology despite her age, and would send Sherlock snaps of pictures of John as a little boy, snaps of his baby booties, even the license plate off his first car. She was going through his things and sharing as best she could. Then, one day, she wrote, "Been contacting the Walker boy via email but he hasn't responded to any of them. Do you have detective skills to determine where he lives?"

Sherlock raises a brow as he reads the text, flushing the last of his stash down the toilet. *I could. Do you want to drop in on him?-SH*

"Yes, please," was the reply. The woman was determined.

*Give me a few hours and I’ll get back to you.—SH**

Carolyn replied with a litany of colorful emojis, most of which she clearly didn't understand the purpose of.

Sherlock chuckles softly and gets to work finding the address.

Carolyn wrung her hands as they waited outside the quaint brownstone. "Sherlock, I may... I may have to rely on you to.. to do the talking. You are an investigator, after all, you must know how to question people properly?"

“I will.” Sherlock nods and gently rubs her back. “Just remember to breathe, okay? This will probably be very stressful. I just want you to be prepared for that.”

Carolyn nodded. "But we'll be polite, yes? I want him to talk. I don't care about anything else, I just want him to talk--" but she trailed off when the young woman with punky hair opened the door.

“Hello. We’ve come to talk to Mr. Walker.” Sherlock nods.

She narrowed her eyes. "Adam isn't seeing anyone," she bit out after clearly recognizing them. "Just leave him alone, alright?"

“Can we just talk to him? Please?” Sherlock sighs.

She eyed them warily. "He's really not ok, ok? This fucked him up and I'm not sure talking to you would help."

“Listen, hun. We’re all in this shit together. If anything were the only people who understand this pain right now.” Sherlock sighs.

"Hun?" her lip curled dragonishly at the word and it was clear they were going to have a door slammed in their faces when Carolyn said softly, "Please. I'm John Watson's mother. All we want is closure. For all of us."  
The woman paused, but didn't soften. "Wait here," she ordered.  
And then the door slammed.

Sherlock rolls his eyes. “She knows who we are.”

"I think that's pretty obvious, dear," Carolyn sighed. For a moment, she thought they were forgotten, but the door opened and the young woman appeared again. "He said ok," she said, "but if he gets upset, you have to leave."

“Thank you.” Sherlock nods.

She led them into the kitchen, where the young man was pulling off his gardening gloves. He was covered in dirt and sweat and looked skittish as a bunny. "You going to be alright?" The young woman asked. Adam nodded unconvincingly, but the woman left all the same.  
Adam ran his hand through his brown curls, "Hi," he said uncertainly.

“Hello. I suppose you already know who we are but I’m Sherlock and this is Carolyn.” Sherlock introduces them.

Adam swallowed. "Mother and fiance, yeah?"  
A weird look passed over Carolyn's face as she looked at the young man. She was turning red. Then she struggled to breathe, "I-- Sherlock, I need some air. I'll wait for you outside. You'll handle this, won't you, dear?" Without waiting for an answer, she fled the room.  
Adam just stared at the countertop, unable to lift his eyes.

“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how hard all of this must be on you and I’m sure I made it worse. I apologize.” Sherlock says softly.

Adam winced. "You're apologizing to me?" He shook his head. "Is it true? He jumped because of my accusations?" He flinched before the answer even came.

“Even if he did jump because of it it wasn’t the only factor.” Sherlock says softly.

Adam let out a small huff of relief. "That... That's ... That shouldn't make me feel better, but it does."

“You don’t have to carry that guilt. Jumping was his choice and none of us should feel guilty for a choice he made.” Sherlock sighs.

"Then... Why are you here?"

“I.. I don’t know frankly. Carolyn wanted to come and she wanted me with her when she came.” Sherlock sighs and rubs his hands through his hair. “No actually. That’s not true. See I’m a detective. I’m brilliant at it. I see clue and pick up on things no one could ever dream of. But I didn’t see John’s suicide coming. There are always clue but him jumping was so out of the I have no idea what to think. I was hoping to get some answers from you. About what happened in the army. I’ve read the reports but I know they’re a long was off from the whole story. So please.. Just help me try and understand why.”

Adam stared at his dirty hands for a few moments before he asked abruptly, "You drink whiskey?" And he went to the cupboard.

“When the occasion calls for it. I believe this is one such occasion.” Sherlock nods and sits on one of the stools.

As Adam prepared the drinks, his story became clear -- insomnia, PTSD, hip surgery that didn't go well, called his mother several times a day, unable to hold a job, addiction to alcohol and painkillers, no stable partner, gave up on therapy, compulsive. "I didn't know him well," Adam said. "I mean, we were mates -- sort of. But I mean," he put an over-full tumbler in front of Sherlock, "I didn't know he was actually queer."

“He didn’t either.” Sherlock shrugs and picks up his glass. Taking a sip.

Adam looked directly at Sherlock for the first time. "What do you mean?"

“He always said he was straight. Always. He never actually admitted he was anything other than straight.” Sherlock hums.

"Even when he was going to marry you?"

Sherlock nods.

Adam had a twitchy face and it fluttered through several expressions before it settled on a frown. "Oh." He hunkered down on his stool and pulled his whiskey close. "But you two were fucking, right?"

Sherlock nods. “Just because he could bugger me doesn’t mean he accepted himself.”

Adam winced and sat back on his stool, his struggle apparent. "You think he jumped because he didn't want to marry you?"

“I.. I don’t know. Everyone calls me a freak so that’s probably a good guess.” Sherlock sips his whiskey. “Sore?”

"Sorry?"

“You seem stiff. Sore. Your hips are bothering you. Particularly the left one.” Sherlock hums.

"I-- yeah. Got hit with some shrapnel from an IED. I shouldn't have been able to walk again. Should have lost the leg... Guess I'm just lucky."

“Luck is a fickle thing..”

Adam folded his lips together, awkward. He downed his tumbler.

“How was your relationship with John in the army?” Sherlock ask softly.

"Um. Alright. I don't know. What did he tell you?"he risked a glance at Sherlock.

“He didn’t.” Sherlock shakes his head. “He told me there were accusations and that’s why he was move to another unit. Then he was shot.”

"Oh, shit," Adam sighed, realising he was going to have to tell the story from the beginning. "It's  
... Look, you're not going to like what you hear, but don't get mad at me, ok?"

“I’ll be as neutral as possible.” Sherlock nods.

Adam fidgeted and geared himself up to speak. "Well. Ok. Um. I suppose I owe it to you. I just, I'm not sure I have my head around it myself, you know? Everything about that time is weird. Everything is wrong and you're behaving abnormally all the time -- I mean, you're literally killing people, who knows what the fuck you might do? Shit just gets strange. And then...

So, I went in for a physical with Watson. All the guys did, just field stuff, not a big deal. And I liked Watson. Everyone did. He was a lot of fun, reliable, brave. Smarter than all of us. Anyway...

I'm on his table, right, my arse hanging out for a prostate exam even though I'm only 19, right. Just standard procedure. And... You know how it goes. He pushes his finger up my ass. Never had that before, and he's there, rubbing my prostate and I get ... I get this massive erection. And he keeps rubbing and I know something's off, but my prick gets harder and harder and I'm all embarrassed because I can't stop whimpering and I'm thinking this can't be right, this isn't what this is about, but I'm totally out of control of my body and I end up just coming all over myself.

He cleans me up and puts my pants back on like everything's normal and I'm confused as hell and weirded out because I've never come like that before. I knew that wasn't what prostate exams were supposed to be. I would have heard about it if they were. But what the hell am I supposed to do about it, you know? Tell my fucking superior officer that everyone's favourite doctor just fingered me to orgasm? I don't know..."  
He glared at his empty glass a moment before rising to retrieve more alcohol. He didn't bother with ice this time.  
"So, I told M---- (I forgot the other guy's name, I'm so sorry!!). I don't know why. I mean, I had to tell someone. But I think it.... It came out funny when I told him. I was trying to couch it like I wasn't a victim, like something weird just happened, like I just... Maybe like a funny pub joke, you know? Like, 'Im so horney out here, someone touched my butt and I came.' I don't know. But a few days later, M--- came back and said Watson had done the same thing to him. I don't know what happened between them. There were rumours that M--- asked him to do it, but the story always changed depending on how drunk he was. But... I mean, if we had just gone to the authorities then, right then, you know, this whole thing wouldn't have gotten so confusing. I mean, for me at least, it was pretty cut and dry, the man diddled me without my consent. But I... Both of us.... We went back."

Sherlock nods. “What happened when you went back?”

Adam licked his lips. "He... Did it again."

“Did you ask him to? Or did he do it unconsenting again?” Sherlocks asks softly.

"I didn't ask him to, no. I never asked him to. But I... I would keep going to see him knowing that he would." Adam was bright pink and couldn't meet Sherlock's eyes.

Sherlock nods. “I’m sorry you were violated like that.”

Adam winced. "You're not hearing me. I went back... Because I knew he would. Because... I wanted him to. Ok? I went back because I wanted...." He was blushing so hard it looked painful. "I wanted him to touch me. It's so fucking lonely out there and Watson was so... Nice. I don't know. Everybody was a fucking lunatic out there, one way or another and Watson was so stable and comforting and nice and I wanted him to touch me. I wanted to get off with him." He huffed hard. "It's still hard to come to grips with that."

“Even though you went back it doesn’t negate the fact that he didn’t ask the first time or any of the subsequent times. And that also doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t have talked to him the subsequent times. It’s a messy situation that got out of hand.” Sherlock frowns.

Adam wrung his hands together between his knees. "We were soldiers. That shit is.... Really hard. We don't sit around and talk about feelings. We don't read BuzzFeed articles and get hip to all the new developments in... I don't know, relationship, sex talk. We were lucky to get newspapers. And we were all blokes. I just... I wish I'd either never gotten into it in the first place or never filed a complaint. M--- got really agitated about it. Sometimes I think it was because it was obvious Watson liked me better. It was his idea to rat him out."

Sherlock nods. “I’m sorry. You were right to fill out a complaint.”

"Stop being so fucking compassionate," Adam snapped suddenly. "It's because of me your fucking fiance is dead, alright? I hate this leftist, sensitive bullshit! You don't have to be nice about everything all the time! I liked him! Ok? I really liked him, but I... I got him shot, didn't I? I got him shot and then he fucking jumped off a roof! It's sick! It's sick and I liked him!" Adam was shaking his fingers ghastly and contorted on the wooden table top. He was near tears and struggling to breathe right.

Sherlock holds back tears. “I forgive you because if I can’t forgive you I can’t forgive myself for letting it happen!” He shouts.

Adam let out something like a sob, a gross mess of tears and mucus. He scrubbed at his face angrily. "Bloody hell," he choked out. "Bloody hell, all of it. I.... Part of my therapy ... Later down the line, I was supposed to talk to him. Watson. Find him and just talk about what happened. I wanted to do that for over a year but I was too cowardly. Now I don't have the chance. I... Jesus, if I had just reached out, maybe all of this shit could've been avoided."

“John.. John talked to me about. He liked you. He wanted a proper life with you. Then Hargreeves started a series of events that couldn’t be stopped.” Sherlock sighs.

Adam went still, his eyes bugging slightly. "..... What?"

“It’s the truth.” Sherlock nods. “It’s not purely accidental he chose me. We look very similar and since he couldn’t have you I was his rebound.”

"Oh, shit," Adam rose and put his hands over his face. "I didn't know-- I didn't know it was like that for him, what-- You mean, he like-- what? He wanted to like, fucking kiss me? Date me? He wanted me to be his girlfriend?"

Sherlock nods.

"Oh, Christ. Oh, Christ." He rose and hurried to the safe haven of his backyard. "I didn't think it was like that!" He barked. "I thought it was just blokes! I mean,.he never touched me! Never got his cock out.... Aw, o thought I had this sorted. I thought I had this sorted."

Sherlock frowns and follows him. “You said it was confusing.”

"Yeah," Adam moaned. "I just always thought he was just fucking me... Not fucking... Making love to me or... Something."

“Technically it was only fingering. You said he never took his cock out.” Sherlock shrugs.

"Yeah," Adam said, crouching to put his head between his knees, "thanks for that clarification." He took a few clinically prescribed breaths before lifting his head. "So he did talk to you about it."

“Not the specifics. And the reports didn’t have specifics either. He told me that it started with exams. I didn’t know if it was just molestation or full blown rape.” Sherlock frowns.

"And you were going to marry him? Not knowing a thing like that?" Adam was utterly nonjudgmental about the topic.

“He never did anything to me that I didn’t want and the story wasn’t cut and dry even from the reports.” Sherlock sighs.

Adam dropped back on his butt and took a moment to compose himself. Then he croaked out, "Sex good?"

Sherlock nods. “Spectacular.” He says softly. 

Adam licked his lips. "Sex has been bad for me. Since I got back. Not just the hip."

Sherlock nods. “You got off on his control..”

Adam looked up at him, shocked. "What?"

“You need a partner that’s in control. Not controlling. Just someone who knows what they’re doing and will take care of your pleasure without you having to ask. That’s exactly what John did, is it not?” Sherlock asks.

Adam's jaw dropped. Then he winced so hard it contorted his entire face. "You are giving my psychiatrist a lot of job security tight now...." His voice became very soft, "I never thought about it like that."

“I’m not trying to be cruel.. I just.. We’re startlingly similar.” Sherlock frowns.

Adam looked up at him. "Are we? How?"

“Well not only do we have similar features like hair and build we both have the same sexual proclivities. Substance abuse as well. Admittedly mine was cocaine and yours is alcohol but substance abuse all the same.” Sherlock hums. “We’re John’s type. He has a type and we’re it. Tall lanky young men with curly hair and cheekbones who have issues both sexually and with impulse control who don’t know how to express properly what they want, when they want it, or how they want it. We need to be shown. Lead. We need a John in our life or else we crumble and nothing is the same or as enjoyable.”

Adam took in everything Sherlock was saying with reverent gravity. He stopped shaking and beautiful diamond tears slipped over his cheeks. "Yeah," he quietly affirmed.

“Yeah..” Sherlock echos and nods.

Adam sniffed hard. "I don't mean to be rude or anything, but I'm glad your friend left. I couldn't have talked about all of this in front of a little old lady."

Sherlock nods. “I don’t think she would have been able to take it.”

"it's a hard thing to understand," Adam said. "Rowan doesn't." He nodded to where the young woman had retreated. "She tries. She's so progressive and sensitive and compassionate, but she just doesn't get it. She has no idea. It drives me crazy. You're the only person who's... You know... Had an idea."

“It’s weird not being alone.” Sherlock hums.

"have you tracked down Hargreeves?"

“No.”

Adam nodded. "Probably for the best. He was a good mate, but.... I don't think you'd feel better for talking to him. I never did."

“So I shouldn’t even try?”

"Depends on what you're looking for. Me, I just want to feel alright again. I just want to... I don't know. Know who I am, I guess. But if you want every gory detail, then I guess you should."

Sherlock nods. “I’ll see if I can handle that..”

Adam nodded. "You, um... You think you might stop by here again? Maybe? Just for a drink or... ?"

Sherlock smiles softly and nods. “Yeah, alright.”

Adam managed a smile. It looked unfamiliar on him. "Good. This has been good. Thanks."

“Thanks for letting us in.” Sherlock smiles and they say their goodbyes.

Carolyn had been doing laps around the block. She hurried to meet him when she saw Sherlock come out. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just couldn't... Tell me everything."

“Carolyn it’s okay. It’s okay. I promise.” Sherlock smiles softly and takes her hand.

"You're such a good man. It's no wonder my Johnny loved you," she said, taking his arm. "Shall we get a cup of tea and you'll tell me everything?"

“Sure.” Sherlock smiles and gets her into the car, driving them.


	12. Chapter 12

John was having a rough go of it. He knew he would. But it was so much worse than expected to be sitting in the back of a transport van trying to sew his cheek back together. "How much farther?" He asked his driver, Mary, like a petulant child.

“We’ll get there when we get there.” Mary rolls her eyes, trying to drive on the smooth patches but this road bad more holes in it than Swiss cheese. “Your stitches are uneven.”

"Guess I won't be pretty anymore," he grumbled, getting to where the wound cut into his lip. He wondered if Sherlock would want to still kiss him. "Any word from Mycroft?" He wanted to ask directly about sherlock, but was afraid of being accused of softness.

“Apparently Sherlock’s kicked the drugs again. On his own. After your wake he was found in a few drug dens. Then your mother contacted him. He’s been clean ever since.” Mary takes a sharp turn, sighing as the car behind them follows. “We’ve got company.”

John peaked out if the rear window. It was difficult to keep his head in the game with news like that. "My mother's keeping him clean?" his scoffing was distorted by the work he was doing on his lip, which was to tie off and snip the last stitch.

“Apparently they’ve been talking ever since the wake. That have tea at least once a week. Talking and texting over the phone more. She’s been doing better talking to him. She makes him eat. They keep each other going.” Mary makes a few sharp turns and speeds up.

"That doesn't sound like either of-- whoa, hey, don't speed up, they'll know we're onto-- huh, too late now," he grumbled and pushed the barrel of his rifle through the window to take a shot.

“Hold them off for another minute. We’re almost there.” Mary speeds up as she sees the pier.

John was grumbling the whole time about panicky amateurs, but he managed to take out their pursuers front driver's side wheel, sending them flying into a glass windowed store front. "Got 'em. Send a clean up crew."

“On it.” Mary sends a text as she drives down the pier.

John scowled at his reflection in the window, then sat back on his haunches and asked after a thoughtful moment, "He's not seeing anyone is he--? Sherlock?"

“Don’t know. Wasn’t in the report. I can ask if you want?” Mary asks as she parks outside a boat.

"No," John said too quickly. "No, it's fine."

“Mmhmm.” Mary hums and gets out of the car, leading John to a boat.

 

 

Adam liked to go on walks. It quickly became apparent that he did best when moving. He had a lot of nervous energy that needed dissipation. He talked with his hands. He was no where as brilliant as sherlock, but he could match him for talking. He also liked coffee and made Sherlock stop every block or so to get a new cup. "Rowan says it's why I can't sleep."

“Probably one of the factors. But it makes you feel better so.” Sherlock shrugs and smiles, his own coffee in hand.

Adam gave him a funny smile. "Um. Any interesting cases come up?"

Sherlock shrugs. “Found the same lost cat three times for three different owners. They all said it was their cat. It would showed up at their door one day, eat, laze about, and then leave for a day or two and come back. Turns out the cat was just mooching off all three of them for extra food and it’s real owner lived on the next floor up. But the cat is pregnant right now so the duped owners are all going to get a kitten. Happy endings for all.”

Adam laughed in his shy, quiet way. "Those people sound like idiots. Good kitty."

Sherlock chuckles and nods. “The cat was very beautiful. Sleek and rich calico shades.”

Adam smiled and pushed his free hand in his pocket. He looked shy for a moment, the burst out of it. "I've been dreaming about John. A lot, in fact. Only since I've talked to you."

Sherlock blinks a bit surprised. “So do I..”

Adam looked up. "What do you dream?"

Sherlock sighs and sips his coffee. “He’s home. And were in bed. And he’s holding me.”

"That's, uh... That's sweet. ... ... What was he like with you? With us, he was such a lad. Never would've pegged him for a poof in a million years."

Sherlock shrugs. “He’s a man’s man.”

"But, I mean, he fucked you. Right?" Despite himself, even Adam realized this was a bit aggressive and personal. "Sorry, I just... I'm hung up on it. That's what my dreams are about. Sex. With him. Sorry."

Sherlock blushes and nods. “He did. Fuck me. Quite a few times.” He licks his lips. “And yes I have sex dreams about it.”

"So, it was... Good?" Adam asked, uncomfortable bit persistent.

“Very.” Sherlock nods.

Adam sighed hard through his nose. "I came in my sleep." He rolled his eyes at himself. "Haven't done that since I was a teenager. We haven't been having sex, me and Rowan. She's been really patient about it, but when I had a wet dream, she kinda freaked out. We're still fighting about it, I guess."

“Do you ever want sex with her? Do you ever see yourself having sex with her?” Sherlock asks softly.

Adam swallowed. "No. I mean, I haven't even had a sex drive since I've been back. I'm... I'm fucked up, Sherlock."

“Well you were assaulted. That’s not something you can just get over.” Sherlock hums.

Adam shook his head. "It's not... Getting my hip blown out was the big one. I thought there was physical damage. Wet dreams means there's nothing wrong with me physically ... Although, I mean, if I'm not careful, I hurt, but...." He shook his head. "I feel like the old me got blown up. I don't know who the new me is. Or how to be him.'

“Let’s find out who you are now then.” Sherlock smiles.

Adam didn't return the smile. "what's if I don't like the new me?" he asked. "I don't want to be queer."

Sherlock’s smile lessened until it was gone. “It’s not exactly a choice.”

Adam was quiet a long time, but his pace didn't slow. There was a war going on inside him. Eventually one side won and he let.out a profound sigh. "I never liked anyone like I liked John. Not before him. I wanted him to like me. I wanted him to want me. And when you said he told you he liked me back... I don't know. I became a bit obsessed with it. And then these dreams. I told you he never took his cock out. In my dreams, he does." The little old woman walking her Pomeranian next.to them stuttered to a stop and nearly fell over.

“Oh please. I’m sure your children came from immaculate conception?” Sherlock says to the woman pointedly as they kept walking.  
“Have you ever tried to take something? A finger? Or a toy?” Sherlock asks Adam.

"Took a finger," Adam reminded him. "Think he got three up me once. Not sure. We didn't talk about it and I can't count with my arsehole."

Sherlock nods. “Have you tried to since?”

"No."

“I have.”

"Well.... I'm sure you have, but you know you like it."

“I know this is going to sound like an arsehole thing to say but you need to divorce John from your sexuality.”

"That's not an arsehole thing to say. You're right, it's just... I keep trying to resolve what's happened and I can't... Not with him gone..." Adam peeked at him over his coffee. "Jesus, I'm not thinking who I'm talking to. You're his fiance. It's gotta be even harder on you."

“Oh believe me every breath I take without him here burns like my lungs are on fire.” Sherlock nods. “But you need to figure what you like and who you are without that guilt weighing in on you. And it will suck. And it will take a long time. But you won’t be able to move on if you carry this your whole life.”

Adam winced. "Alright, doc," he kidded. "What do I do?"

“I think we should buy you some lube and if you’re feeling brave a small toy.” Sherlock shrugs.

Adam endured one of his trademark whole-body winces.

“We don’t have to. It’s just a suggestion.” Sherlock says softly.

Adams eyes went wide and it was possible the hair on his arms stood up. "'We'?"

“I just meant that we don’t have to go to the shop if you don’t want to.” Sherlock blushes. 

Adam actually slowed to a stop. He studied Sherlock for a moment. Then he said, "You want to take me to a sex shop to buy something to pump in my arse, then you're going to just go home...?"

Sherlock shrugs. “Why? Did you want more?”

Adam thought about it an Sherlock could see him visualising his way through the scenario. "No," he decided, "that would be too much for me." He started walking again.

Sherlock nods and walks with him.

 

 

Two weeks later, after their meetings became more frequent, Sherlock received a text from Adam that read, "Need to see you now."

Sherlock frowns. *Where are you? Are you okay?-SH*

*Yes. Almost at your place. You home?*

*Yeah. I’m home.-SH* Sherlock goes down stairs to wait for him.

Adam came huffing up the street, his breath hitting the air hard. "Hey," he said, so agitated he was vibrating. "Buy you a coffee?" he asked, noddding at speedys

“Sure.” Sherlock frowns and follows him.

Adam couldn't even wait for their orders to be ring up. He just turned to Sherlock and said, "Rowan and I broke up."

“Why? Are you alright?” Sherlock looks Adam over.

"I'm sure you can guess why. And no, I'm not alright. Shit has hit the skids."

“I’m sorry.” Sherlock frowns and sits at a table with him, fidgeting a bit. He didn’t know how to be consoling.

Adam shook his head. He took a flask from his pocket and poured some whiskey into his coffee when it came. "She was my support system. And my house, but... I've been homeless before, that's fine. I just... I held her every night and it kept the demons at bay."

“I’m not going to let you be homeless. You’ll stay with me.” Sherlock sips his coffee.

Adam shook his head. "That's not the problem..." His knee was bouncing and he kept gouging his fingers into his eyes. "Um, how's... How's Carolyn?

“Alright. She’s thinking of taking a trip.” Sherlock says softly and reaches for Adam’s hands, holding them.

Adam startled at first, and then tears came to his eyes. "I feel like such a shit. She did everything right. She was a fucking angel and I just... " he trailed off.

“It’s not your fault. It wasn’t the right time for you two to be together. Maybe some other time.” Sherlock rubs his hands.

Adam shook his head. "Tell me about your cases, Shazza. Tell me lots of stories of interesting cases."

Sherlock nods and tells Adam stories.

Adam calmed down, either from the story or the booze he kept sneaking. He didn't let go of Sherlock's hand, even as he laughed and nodded along. When Sherlock's stories finally wound down, Adam asked, "So, how are you doing?"

“I’ve been.. Alright.” Sherlock shrugs. He hadn’t but he couldn’t say it.

"You look like shit."

“Thanks.” Sherlock laughs.

"You can talk to me, you know. Lord knows I talk at you enough.'

Sherlock nods. “I.. I miss him. So much.”

Adam squeezed his hand. "Do you want to to go back to your place and get really fucked up and weepy?"

“Fuck yes.” Sherlock nods.

Adam beamed at him and hauled Sherlock out of the cafe. "You got any gear? I have some dope, and less than a gram of cocaine."

“Yeah I got a stash.” Sherlock smiles and takes Adam up to his flat.

Adam didn't waste time. He threw open the cupboards in search of booze and ransacked what he found. "Here," he tossed Sherlock a spoon. "Start cooking."

Sherlock does as he’s told, filing their syringes.

Adam passed Sherlock a fine tumbler of bourbon and asked, "Those new?" of the syringes.

“Of course. I never reuse syringes.” Sherlock nods, sipping his drink.

Adam smiled at him. It was tinged with melancholy. "I'll do you if you do me," he offered, taking a syringe and tapping up one of Sherlock's veins.

Sherlock nods, wrapping a band around Adam’s arm before he massages his vein.

When Adam plunged the syringe to empty, he watched Sherlock's eyes to catch his reaction.

Sherlock pushes the plunger as well, watching it go into Adam. “Fuck..” Ge licks his lips.

Adam felt his gums dripping gasoline before it struck. When it did, he hissed hard. "Oh, fuck." He downed the last of his bourbon as if that would slow him down.

Sherlock sips his. “Let’s go to the couch.”

"Fuck," Adam said again, his fingers snapping as he flung himself on the sofa. He wasn't there a second before he was up again, zooming around the apartment, fidgeting with everything he could touch. "Tell me about you, man, yell me everything there is to know about you."

Sherlock lays out on the couch. “I’m boring. Everything is boring. Stupid. So stupid.”

"Bullshit, shut up. You have secrets, dark ones."

“How can I shut up and talk at the same time?”

"if anyone could, it's you!"

“I hate being alive. I hate it. It’s long and boring and everyone is awful. The only good thing about it is the drugs.”

"Well, yeah," Adam agreed. "Didn't you say Carolyn got you sober?"

“Yeah.. She tried. This is the first time I’ve used in a while.” Sherlock shrugs.

"Sorry, man. I fuck up your sobriety?"

“It wasn’t going to last anyway. Tell me what happened with Rowan.”

Adam started sweating. "Just what you'd expect. I wigged out on her for nothing. For no reason whatsoever. She called me a poofter and .... I don't know, she woke up and realized she was wasting her life with me. Kicked me out so I went to the shelter and scored."

“I’m sorry. That sucks.” Sherlock frowns, starting to feel floaty.

Adam shrugged, "Better than her jumping off a roof."

Sherlock grunted, feeling like he was punched in the gut. “At least she’s alive.”

Suddenly, Sherlock had a lap full of army vet. Adam hugged his neck. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, man. That came out mean. I get edgy on coke. I love you, man."

Sherlock huffed and holds Adam. “It’s okay.” He wraps his arms around him.

"No it isn't. Everything sucks. Except us."

“We’re pretty cool.” Sherlock rubs his back.

The next three hours were dictated by the whims of the cocaine. They made grand promises and yelled for no reason. When Adam began to come down, his mood turned more maudlin and sentimental. "I don't think I've ever actually been in love," he said. "I've only ever used people as plasters."

“Why? What hurt you?” Sherlock frowns, looking at the dust on the floor as he lays on it.

"Uh. My dad beat my mum... And she kept going back. Because she loved him."

“I’m sorry.”

"You ever love anyone other than John?"

“Nope.”

"Really?" Adam asked in wonder. "What made you love him so much?"

“Probably the Stockholm syndrome.”

Adam furrowed his brow. "What does Stockholm syndrome have to do with it?"

Sherlock sighs and decides to tell Adam everything, the only person he was ever one hundred percent honest with. He’d blame it on the drugs later is it came up.

Adam listened in stone sober silence, stunned. "You have got to be bullshitting me," he whispered.

“Not even a little bit.” Sherlock mumbles.

"That is... The SEXIEST thing I have ever heard!" Adam groaned, dropping his head into his hands. "Oh, goddamn it," he muttered upon seeing his impudent erection.

“Well look at you. Getting excited.” Sherlock chuckles. “Good for you.”

Adam scowled petulantly. "Well, it is sexy. I know that's not a cool.thinf to say these days, but... I mean, my situation with him wasn't that different, you know? I guess the man loved to have an advantage."

“Yeah like running you off the road and making you wait to take his cock.” Sherlock groans.

Adam lifted an eyebrow. "He made you wait? You wanted it and he wouldn't give it to you?"

“I had to wait ages.” Sherlock pouts.

"What is his thing with denying horny young men his cock?"

“Who fucking knows. Pain in my arse. His cock is huge by the way. Fucking massive.”

Adam's eyes closed slowly and he licked his lips. "Was it... Nice?"

“Oh yeah. Have you ever had a cock that was thick and also long? Like usually it’s one or the other both he had both and honestly I could have died happily while he fucked me and not even been mad at all.”

"I've never had another man's cock," Adam shrugged. He was quiet for a moment. "John Watson an assassin. Jesus. And I thought I went off the deep end."

Sherlock nods and then stills before laughs like a maniac. He hops up and goes to Adam. “You’re a fucking genius.” He kisses him hard.

"Hmm?" Adam laughed, dazed by everything that just happened in the last two seconds.

“You brilliant drugged up man. You don’t even know what you said.” Sherlock laughs and grins.

"What did I say? What are you doing?"

“John’s an assassin and he went off the deep end.” Sherlock laughs and sits back in his chair, head in his hands.

Adam frowned. "Sorry, man, I didn't mean it like that." Then, unable to help himself, he crawled into Sherlock's lap and started laughing too.

Sherlock holds him close and nuzzles him, the drugs always making him soft. “You don’t have to apologize. It’s alright. You made me see what’s really happening.”

"I'm sorry, Shazza. I'm sorry you lost him like that. But vets... We top ourselves a lot.ive thought about it more than once. It's not surprising."

“But that’s the point. It’s not surprising at all.”

Adam sighed and pushed Sherlock over until he was on top of him. "He must have had a lot of demons. It's hard for us army guys to realize we want to fuck other army guys. That's why we go into the army -- to lie to ourselves that we fit the manly mold." He groaned and melted into the crevices of Sherlock's body. "And then this love stuff. Fucking is one thing. But I bet when John realized he wanted to hold your hand and win teddy bears for you at the fair, it broke his brain. Jesus, it does my head in, that thing you told me."

“Well it took months for him to come around to it. I don’t think he ever fully did.” Sherlock runs his hands over Adam’ body, pushing his hands under his shirt.

"Obviously not." Adam huffed. "But don't take that shit personally, yeah?"

Sherlock nods, feeling Adam’s back muscles.

Adam was starting to crash. "You have any more coke? I'm going to fall asleep. I don't want to fall asleep. Except if you're here, I might be ok. Rowan would let me squeeze her and that helped."

“I’ll hold you.” Sherlock nods.

Adam sighed hard and shook a little bit. "Ok..." He wrapped an arm around Sherlock's waist and a hand around his bicep like someone preparing for impact. "Thanks. Ill make you coffee in the morning, ok?" He was fully shaking, now.

Sherlock nods and scoops Adam up, hobbling a bit to the bedroom and holding him close in bed, wrapping the covers tight around them.

Adam went with him like a child. He plastered himself against Sherlock and didn't sleep for a long time. When he finally nodded off, his entire body went slack and his breath deepened profoundly.


	13. Chapter 13

Adam came bursting through the doors of 221b. He had taken to wearing eyeliner and coats with fur trim, despite the all-army, war-vet duds underneath. The cocaine had thinned him out, but bouyed him in the dark bouts of depressiion. He didn't think of himself as living with Sherlock on Baker Street, but rather crashing until he sorted himself out. He'd been sorting for six months. "Shazza? You in?"

“Where else would I be?” Sherlock hums as he looks through his microscope.

Adam held a wrapped package aloft in his hand. "Guess what this is?" It wouldn't be a difficult guess when the person guessing was Sherlock Holmes and Adam displayed all the hints of a trip to the gay sex shop. Also, the box was the perfect dimension for a dick.

“You’ve bought a cock.” Sherlock laughs and grins. “Good for you.”

Adam smiled impishly. "Yeah. If you're not busy, do you want to kiss me a bit while I try it out? I mean, I know you're a ... A bottom..." He was still uncomfortable using gay slang.

“I wouldn’t mind helping.” Sherlock chuckles.

Adam grinned at him before making a cartoonish sound and flitting into the bedroom. By the time Sherlock joined him, he was naked, had the lube open and was struggling with the dildos packaging. "Should we shoot up or do it sober? I don't know the right thing to do."

“Shooting up will make it feel more intense but sober you’ll be able to move better.” Sherlock goes to him, touching his body.

"I move fine high," Adam grinned. "And I'm nervous. Better get the blow."

Sherlock nods and kisses him before getting the drugs.

When he returned, Adam was gently stroking his hole with slick fingers. He blinked up at Sherlock with blue green eyes. "I think I'll snort it... Off your nipples, maybe..."

Sherlock chuckles and nods. “I’ll prepare you if you want.”

Adam smiled slow at him. "Yeah, alright," he said softly, spreading his legs to make room for Sherlock. "Take your clothes off..."

Sherlock strips, even skinner than before.

Adam didn't notice. He just took up the cocaine, pushed Sherlock onto his back and started making likes across his chest with an old library card.

Sherlock chuckles and stays still so Adam can do it.

Adam rolled up on of the twenties on his chest and snorted two lines up his nose before lunging the rest of the way to give Sherlock a deep, dirty kiss.

Sherlock kisses him back hard, biting and sucking at his lips.

Adam dabbed some of the coke onto his finger and temptingly pried at Sherlock's lips to rub it on his gums. "Open up..."

Sherlock opens his mouth, wanting to be numb.

Adam was gentle, reverent even. "Sex and drugs makes thinking about him ok," he promised. "We can think about him now."

Sherlock hums and sucks his finger.

Adam kissed him filthily, before directing Sherlock's hand to his butt and leaning down to have the rest of his coke off Sherlock's nipple with his tongue.

Sherlock groans and starts to prep Adam’s arse as they kiss.

Adam gasped out of the kiss and ducked his head into Sherlock's neck. "Slow," he begged, "Careful..." He hadn't done anything like this since John.

“I’ve got you.” Sherlock says softly, slowly and gently working Adam open.

Adam pressed his mouth into Sherlock's neck and moaned. He curled against him, opening himself up and bending a knee against his ribs. "I remember this..." He whispered. "John was gentle like you..."

Sherlock pants a bit, surprisingly getting hard as he opens Adam. “It’s not supposed to hurt. John taught me that.”

Adam rose up on his forearms so he could rock back on Sherlock's hand. "How did he teach you?" Adam panted his eyes closed.

“I had shit relationships before and I thought sex was painful and you just felt with it. He.. He taught me that was wrong. He taught me how to feel good.” Sherlock gently rubs Adam’s prostate.

"Oh, shit," Adam thrust hard against Sherlock's hip. "John would rub me there ... God, that's the spot, he would... fondle my nub.... Did he do that for you?"

“Yeah. He did. He’d milk my prostate.” Sherlock chuckles.

"with his fingers?"

“Yeah. And his cock.”

"Fuck," Adam gasped. "I want a cock. Do you think I'm ready? I... I want it," he panted into Sherlock's ear.

“You’re ready.” Sherlock nods, rocking three fingers in and out of Adam comfortably. “Where did you put the box?”

Adam motioned to the box he still hadn't managed to wrestle open. It was a good sized dildo, but still fit for a novice.

Sherlock eases his fingers out of Adam and wipes them off on the bedding before opening the box, pulling out the dildo.

"How should I sit? Or... On my stomach?"

“However you want to be. On your hands and knees would get it deeper and easier to rub your prostate.” Sherlock shrugs, cock half interested in the proceedings.

Adam licked his ripe lips. "I want to kiss you, though," he said, his voice dark. "Maybe like this?" He rolled back and pulled his legs into a clumsy 'happy baby'.

“Good.” Sherlock nods and moves between Adam’s legs as he slicks the dildo.

Adam's breathing became very heavy, both nervous and excited. "Did he talk to you? When he fucked you? What did he say?"

Sherlock rubs his hand over Adam’s thigh as he gently rubs the head of the dildo over Adam’s hole. “He’d tell me what a good boy I was. How beautiful I was. How good I felt to fuck.”

Adam started whimpering, his hole grasping at the head of the toy. "I bet you let him fuck you however he wanted."

Sherlock chuckles and nods. “Sometimes I’d walk around only wearing a butt plus so he’d have to take me.” He hums and slowly pushes the head in gently.

Adam's jaw dropped open and he gasped. He winced and whined as he clenched rhythmically, until he began to adjust. "Oh, God. Fuck me like he fucked you."

Sherlock leans in and kisses Adam. “I think that’s something we’ll have to work up to.” He slowly rocks the dildo.

Adam opened his eyes and made a soft sound. "Oh, God, that's.... Oh, GOD!" he bit his lower lip hard and started trembling. "Was he rough with you?"

“Mm he’d held me down and make my arse his.” Sherlock kisses his neck as he sets a nice fucking pace with the dildo.

Adam sunk his fingers into Sherlock's shoulder and began really moaning. Eventually, his hips found a rhythm and he started fucking back on the dildo pumping into him. "Oh, I like it... I really like it. God, I wish he'd taken his cock out when I was in his tent. I wish he'd pushed it in me," he babbled.

“Mm I know. It was so nice and thick and hot.” Sherlock groans, angling the dildo to rub Adam’s prostate.

Adam's voice went into high yips and his hips started bucking hard. "I wish I could've seen him fuck you!" he nearly yelled. "I bet you were fucking gorgeous!"

“Maybe we should go out dancing one of these night. Bring someone how and you can watch them fuck me.” Sherlock chuckles, starting to thrust the dildo harder and faster as he bites at Adam’s throat.

Adam whimpered and wrapped his hand around his cock, pulling hard. "You really like getting fucked," Adam panted before leaning in to give him a steamy kiss.

Sherlock kisses Adam back hard, nipping at his lips and sucking on his tongue. “Honestly I just want to get out of my fucking skull.”

Adam made a sympathetic mew and offered softly against his lips. "Do you want to fuck me?"

“If you want me to.” Sherlock says softly.

Adam stroked through his hair and said dreamily, "Yeah... I want to feel a real cock."

Sherlock kisses Adam softly before pulling back, reaching into the bedside drawer for a condom.

Adam gasped as the dildo slipped out of him. "Oh my god, that's intense. Why is that so good?"

“Because you’re a bottom.” Sherlock teased and put the condom on, slicking his cock.

"You going to be able to keep it hard for me if you're a bottom too?" Adam teased back.

“We’ll see.” Sherlock smirks and kisses Adam dirty.

Adam grinned into his kisses and kissed him back, "It's fine if you can't, just know I'll never let you live it down."

“Said one coke fiend to another.” Sherlock chuckles and slowly pushes into Adam.

Adam was about to giggle at the joke wwhen instead he made a high pitched squeak. "That's different."

“Tell me how.” Sherlock keeps still so Adam can adjust.

Adam moaned low and deep and he kept his eyes closed. "It's so hot..." he panted, "and I can feel your heartbeat... Condoms suck."

“Mm you’ll get used to it.” Sherlock slowly starts to rock his hips.

Adam hooked his legs tight against Sherlock's ribs and sunk his fingers in his curls. "Oh, that feels good. Oh, it's so nice," he huffed and experimentally gave Sherlock a little squeeze.

Sherlock gasps and groans, his hips snapping as he’s squeezed.

"Good. Yes. C'mon, Shazza..." Adam muttered, nuzzling the hair at his temple.

Sherlock kisses him and starts to fuck him properly.

Adam held on. It was overwhelming but incredibly good. His head dropped back and his hips automatically started bucking back into him. He was whimpering and making a racket, his hand on his cock, stroking fiercely. "Can you... Go... Deeper?" he begged.

Sherlock held Adam’s hips and lifted them, pushing deeper.

Adam couldn't take much more of that before he came all over himself, moaning deep.

A few thrusts later and Sherlock was coming, filing the condom as Adam squeezed him.

Adam had to just pant for several long minutes after that. Then he fling his arms around his friend and laughed, "Shazza, we did it!"

Sherlock chuckles and nuzzles him. “Did what?”

"We... Fucked to completion! I haven't.done that with someone else since I came back!" Since John, if you could call that fucking.

Sherlock smiles and kisses him. “I’m glad.”

Adam grinned and shifted to help Sherlock out of him. "Can people do this? Is this how they do it? I mean..." He shook his head. "Can two bottoms have a relationship? Was that just horrible for you?"

“I’m sure they can. It was good for me. I enjoyed it.” Sherlock smiles and cleans them up, tossing the condom.

"Huh," Adam thought about it and frowned. "But you wouldn't want to top all the time."

Sherlock shrugs. “Not all the time but I have my own toys for when I want something inside me.”

"I'd help. If you want."

“Yeah okay.” Sherlock nods and lays down next to him.

The cocaine was still making Adam giddy and he rolled atop Sherlock, his face in his shoulder. "Do you want to find other men? Tell me what you want."

“Mm I don’t care.” Sherlock drags his fingers over Adam’s spine.

Adam looked up at him and frowned. He could sense his depression. Adam's presence wasn't lifting his spirits, nor were the drugs. It seemed sex hadn't shifted anything either. Adam, on the other hand, was bouncing back, and the dread at facing the buried aspects of himself had turned to excitement.  
"Shazza..." He sighed.

“Mm?” Sherlock hums.

Adam kissed him all over his face and his lips. "What would make you happy? If you could ask for anything?"

“You know what I’d ask for.” Sherlock sighs.

Adam took a moment, then sighed heavily. He wrapped his arm around Sherlock's chest and muttered, "I'm so sorry, man. But I'm so happy I met you."

“Mm at least there’s you.” Sherlock hums softly, wrapping his arms around Adam and drifting off.

 

 

John could feel the end of this coming and he knew it. He had spent the last few days interviewing men in prison and now he had the intel he needed to crush the last of those who were keeping him from Sherlock. He barge into the safehouse, bright with promise, but he noticed Mary wasn't making eye contact with him. She was.sat.on.the sofa, glaring sightlessly at.her laptop. "Everything ok?" he asked, getting a beer from the fridge. He liked Mary and had grown incredibly fond of her in their time working together. In a different world, he would have tried to court her.

“Mm not really..” Mary sighs, typing annoyedly.

John scowled. "Well, what, then?"

“Sherlock’s using again.” Mary frowns.

"Sher-- what? No! He met my mother! She has to be keeping tabs on him!" He rushed to the computer to see what she was seeing. "Is it his 7% solution? What is it?

Mary shows him the computer and all the messages.  
**Sherlock is using again. Harder that before. Going out in the middle of the night and buying larger quantities of drugs. He doesn’t come out for days after that and when he does it’s only for more drugs. Carolyn is very disheartened because he’s stopped answering her calls.-Mycroft**

John stared, unblinking. His breath became shallow. "Within the week. We're finishing this up within the week and then I'm getting the fuck out of here and going back to him."

“John. I don’t know about that. There’s still a few loose ends.” Mary frowns, knowing John is going to get reckless.

"There will always be bloody loose ends!" John roared disproportionately. "I'm not going to bloody sit here and lose the very person I'm doing this for over some scattered loose bloody ends!!"

“Yeah well if you fucking die it’s all a moot fucking point!” Mary snaps back.

The muscle in John's jaw started to flutter. "If he... If he knows I'm alive, he might ..." John swallowed. "It says he's using harder, that could mean more drugs or harder drugs and either way, I can't-- I'm not going to lose him!"

“Fine fine. I’ll move up the timeline. Give me a few hours.” Mary frowns.

"Thank you," John put his tattered fingers across his brow to compose himself. He had been waking up every morning, enduring horrible hardships and risking his life, all with the vision of Sherlock before his eyes to get him through it -- the promise of holding him again, of growing old with him. To strip that from him would leave him rudderless.

Mary nods, going through her notes.

John scrolled compulsively through Sherlock's surveillance pictures. He looked awful: too skinny, his skin a ruin of scars, his hair unwashed and grotty. He looked like a proper junkie. He touched the screen with his fingertips. " Do you think he's forgotten me?" he asked softly.

“No. Honestly I think he knows.” Mary hums.

"What?"

“I think he knows your not dead.”

John went very still. "What makes you say that?" he asked very seriously.

“Maybe he’s acting out. Trying to see if you’ll come back to save him.”

John sat back in his chair. 'What proof do you have?" he asked. "This is serious, Mary. If you know something, you have to tell me."

“No proof. But Sherlock’s smart. You’ve told me as much. And he’s a detective

John held her in a grave stare. "If that's true, Mary," he said, "then I stay here and finish this. Is that what you're recommending?"

“Recommendations are above my pay grade. I’m just a coordinator.” Mary sighs.

"Then why did you bloody mention it?" he snapped at her darkly. He had to consider it now.l and it wasn't what he wanted to spend his time to so it. The idea that Sherlock may be acting out in a petulant fit was far from ingratiating to say the least, and not something John found charming or worth risking his life over. "Get more Intel," he grumbled. "We'll stay on course until this is definitive."

“Sir, Yes, Sir.” Mary hums and gets to work.

 

 

When Sherlock came to, he saw Mycroft perching delicately on the only chair in the whole crack den that has the integrity to maintain his weight. His face was wrinkled in an unshifting sniff. "Are you... With us?" he asked.

Sherlock grunts.

Mycroft frowned darkly. Then he poked him right in the ribs with his umbrella.

“Stop that.” Sherlock grumbles.

"Sherlock," Mycroft lamented. "I've come to put you back in Baker Street. I think this rebellion has gone on long enough, don't you?"

“Shut up. Your voice is fat and annoying.” Sherlock curls up more.

Mycroft considered informing his brother that calling him fat was an injustice to the big boned the world over. He decided that was a conversation best left for another time. "It has been over a year since he left us, Sherlock."

“One year, three months, two weeks, and five days. Would you like the hours and minutes at well?” Sherlock hisses.

"I'm impressed you even know what day it is, the state you've been in." Mycroft sighed. "He wouldn't have wanted this for you."

“I know everything when it comes to him. Especially when he jumped.” Sherlock yells and then winces, holding his head. “He wanted to be dead.”

Mycroft frowned. "How's this. I'll take you back to baker Street. You can put yourself in order. Then we'll have a visit to Carolyn's. She tells me you haven't been by in a while."

“Why would She want to see me? I ruin everything. I couldn’t even keep her son alive.” Sherlock mumbles.

"Come now. Self pity becomes no one. She cherishes you and you know it. Think of her if you can think nothing good of yourself."

Sherlock just grumbles.

Mycroft poked him with his umbrella. "Up."

“I’ll shove that thing up your arse if you don’t knock it off.” Sherlock snaps but slowly gets up.

When Sherlock rose, a glance told Mycroft how badly off Sherlock truly was. He'd never seem him either so feeble nor so weak. He looked 30 years older than his years. It frightened him. So badly was he shaken that he pulled out his phone and shot off three terse words to John: Come back immediately.  
He put his phone away and chirped, "Supper first, I think."

“Obsessed with food as ever.” Sherlock sighs, leading the way out slowly showing just how weak he is.

Mycroft took him to a shoddy diner with unexpectedly high quality food, where no one would look too closely at the obvious junkie. He ordered without asking what Sherlock would like with the clear understanding that Sherlock would be eating as much as he could, and that without complaint. They say in silence for several awkward moments before Mycroft asked, "Have you given up cases all together, then? Lestrade says he's been unable to get a hold of you."

Sherlock shrugs. “They’re boring..”

"What are you trying to prove, Sherlock? Or are you just trying to destroy yourself? Do you think you're the only man in the world to have suffered a loss?"

“Excuse me for having feelings and emotions. I know they’re beneath you.”

Mycroft sighed heavily and was about to make a cutting retort when his phone went off in his pocket. It was from John: Does he know?  
Mycroft texted swiftly: Come back immediately.  
When he turned back to his brother, he cleared his throat. "Do you have a list for me?"

Sherlock sighs and hands Mycroft a crumpled list. “Who’s texting you?”

"Just business," Mycroft deferred. He looked at the list and grimaced. He felt himself start to sweat. "My God, Sherlock." Then he asked in all sincerity, "Are you trying to kill yourself?"

Sherlock shrugs, getting into the black car that pulls up.

Mycroft didn't press him. but he sat statue-still until Sherlock began to eat.

Sherlock picks at his food for a while before starting to eat, having starved himself.

Mycroft didn't move a muscle for fear of putting him off his feed. He only hoped Sherlock didn't gorge himself beyond what his stomach was prepared to take.

Sherlock eats a bit of everything, still not enough for a full meal but acceptable for now.

Mycroft sighed heavily once he felt it was safe to breathe again. "Any plans for Thursday?" He tried to ask as casually as possible. Thursday was John's birthday and the second Sherlock would spend without him. However, if Sherlock didn't remember, Mycroft wouldn't remind him. If he did remember, it would certainly be a danger night, no matter how Sherlock replied.

“Hoping to get cake out of it?” Sherlock looks out the window.

Mycroft remained implacable. "Are you making one?"

“Either that or get high.” Sherlock hums.

"Spend it with Carolyn?"

“If she’ll still talk to me..”

"Of course she will. Come. I'll take you home, get you cleaned up and you can go visit with her."

Sherlock nods and follows Mycroft.

While Sherlock was in the shower, he sent texts to John: Please confirm.  
It was the same text over and over, but he got no reply.  
When Carolyn saw her son's fiance on her doorstep, she burst into tears and smacked at him with her hands. "Where have you been? Where have you been?!"

“I’m sorry.” Sherlock stands still, letting her hit him.

Mycroft craftily escaped while Carolyn had Sherlock's attention and the pair never noticed him.  
Carolyn groaned in defeat and wiped at her eyes. "You silly, stupid thing. You look like seven shades of hell. Come here, now." She squeezed Sherlock close and felt all of his ribs. "And what have you done to yourself?"

“Things John would be quite angry with me for..” Sherlock holds her close.

"Then why did you do them?" She asked, dragging him inside.

“I don’t know..” Sherlock sighs.

Concern was writ large on Carolyns face. "Oh, child," she sighed. "Why didn't you come to me? We're in this together."

“I didn’t want to worry you but I’ve done just the opposite.” Sherlock frowns.

"No, dear, it's... I wasn't certain you weren't moving on with a new life, I didn't want to drag you down." She set him at the small dinette in her wee flat. "But it doesn't look like you've moved on, dear."

“If anything I’ve moved back.” Sherlock frowns as he sits.

"I heard," she ventured carefully, "that that young man moved in with you... Are you a couple now?"

“I.. No. I don’t know. I don’t think so.” He rubs his hand over his face.

Carolyn nodded. "But he's not looking after you...?" She saw Sherlock shaking and immediately started banging about the kitchen. "I'm sorry, darling. You don't owe me any explanations. Let me get you a cup of tea. I'll turn up the heat. Let me get a blanket on you! My mum made this." She suddenly doused Sherlock in a cable knit blanket that was a cozy weight on him. "This was John's favorite. He'd come down every morning and this was the first thing he'd reach for."

Sherlock smiles softly. “Feels like him. Strong and warm.” Sherlock holds the blanket close.

"You still miss him that bad, hey?" Carolyn asked, putting a lovely cup of tea in front of him. She started reheating her leftover penne without bothering to ask him if he wanted it.

“Every moment of every day.” Sherlock says into the cup as he takes a sip.

Carolyn's face pinched sadly. "Yes. I suppose it's easier for me. He'd cut us out. I was used to not hearing from him. A few times a week, I still catch myself wondering if he'll ever ring me up or if it would be rude of me to try and contact him again. I'm still waiting for us to be a family again, I suppose. Oh, I didn't tell you, Harry's off to rehab again. Guess you missed that bit of news."

“How is She?” Sherlock asks softly, letting the tea warm him.

"a lot like you, it seems," Carolyn said, eyeing him with knowing sympathy.

Sherlock frowns and nods.

Carolyn patted his hand before putting the pasta in front of him without comment. "What is it you're hooked on, dear?"

Sherlock bites his lip, ashamed to tell her. “Cocaine mostly..”

Carolyn looked down at her nails to hide her reaction. "And what else?"

“I’m sure you can imagine..” Sherlock eats slowly. “Bit of everything else..”

Carolyn frowned hard, despite her attempts to compose herself. "You know I couldn't bear it if something happened to you, too... I couldn't bear it."

“I’ll be good. I promise.” Sherlock nods, not wanting to hurt Carolyn further.

Carolyn grabbed Sherlock's hand, hard. "There's an East enders marathon on the telly this evening. Watch a few with me?"

“I’d love to.” Sherlock nods, tearing up a bit.

Adam was cuddled up in bed by the time Sherlock got home. When he heard the door click shut, however, he bolted awake and called, "Shazza?"

“It’s me..” Sherlock sighs.

"Come in here!" Adam demanded.

Sherlock sighs and goes to the room.

Adam batted on the light and scowled. "Where have you been for a bloody week, mate? Why didn't you answer your phone! I liked to Mrs Hudson for you!"

“I was in a crack den.” Sherlock shrugs.

Adam scowled. "What? Wh-- why?" He sat up a bit, apprehensive. "That shit we do -- that's just for fun, mate. You're not supposed to take it seriously."

“Apparently you don’t know me very well.” Sherlock starts to strip so he can shower.

Adam followed him right into the bathroom, scanning his body for marks. "Oh, man," he said, seeing the track marks and the bruises and the patches. "You um... You aren't doing anything crazy, are you? I mean... You aren't sharing needles or... Or whoring, are you?"

“No. I’m not an idiot.” Sherlock sighs and turns on the shower.

Adam nodded, clearly relieved. "Met a nice bloke on the tube," he chatted at Sherlock through the shower curtain. "Probably about five days ago now. We went back to his and shagged. For a second, I thought we were going to start something. I wished you were here to talk to. But whenever we weren't in bed, he bored me to tears. I mean, anticlimactic story, I know, but you weren't here for the good bits."

“You fucked a stranger and yet here you were in my bed?” Sherlock laughs and lathers his body. “Was it a good shag at least?”

"Oh, the shagging was great. Lovely big cock. Just..." he shook his head. "Not someone I wanted to be seen with in sunlight... I stopped answering his calls." He peeked his head around the shower curtain. "You been getting yours?"

Sherlock shrugs. “Nothing satisfying.”

"Because you've got no arse, mate." Adam reached out and smacked his bottom. "Nothing to sink your teeth into."

“I used to have a nice arse. You should have seen it. Even you would have been tempted to fuck it.” Sherlock chuckles.

Adam smiled. "You're very pretty. I'd be happy to fuck you -- AND to be seen with you in the daylight."

“I’m sure.” Sherlock laughs and rises off.

Adam handed him his towel. "Snuggle me? I've been so fucking lonely."

“Yeah alright.” Sherlock nods and drys off, walking to bed naked.

Adam stripped out of his night clothes and crawled in after Sherlock, spooning up against him from behind.

Sherlock relaxes back into him.

Adam purred and nuzzled into his neck, giving him a few darling kisses.

Sherlock smiles softly. “I did miss you..” He says quietly.

"Then why did you fuck off for a week?" He pushed his thigh between Sherlock's legs. "I get lonely and fucked up, too; I don't run off on you."

Sherlock shrugs, spreading his legs a bit for Adam’s leg. “I don’t know..”

Adam huffed, dissatisfied with that answer, but gently pet Sherlock's belly all the same.

Sherlock slowly melts into the touch.

"Wanna fuck?" Adam asked lazily.

“Only if you do the work.” Sherlock chuckles. 

Adam thought about it. "Alright, lazy..." Penetrative sex was too much of a chore at the moment, so Adam just got the lube from the bedside table and slicked his own cock before pushing it between Sherlock's thighs. "Jesus. Nothing to fuck, here, mate...." With his slick hand, he reached around and gave a friendly stroke to Sherlock's cock.

Sherlock groans a bit, getting hard. “There’s a fleshlight in the drawer for us to fuck.”

Adam grumbled, moving his hips slowly against Sherlock's thighs. "Not my thing. Want me to get it for you?"

“Yeah.” Sherlock nods.

"I thought you were a dildo man," he grinned, pulling the toy from the drawer and lubing it up.

“Yeah but having something wrapped around your cock is nice too.” Sherlock chuckles and licks his lips. “I should just roll you over and fuck you.”

"And here I thought you were too lazy," Adam challenged, rubbing his lips on Sherlock's shoulder.

“Mm you’ve been giving that arse to strangers. May as well have some.” He chuckles.

"Well, maybe I wouldn't if my steady didn't disappear for weeks on end," he said, urging Sherlock to roll atop him when he didn't move fast enough for Adam's liking.

Sherlock turns and kisses Adam hard. “Shut up. Do you want my cock or not?” He bites at his lip.

"Jesus," Adam groaned, "If you're going to be all toppy, then fuck yes!"

Sherlock smirks and grabs the lube, starting to stretch Adam.

Adam loved the option to be lazy. He let his legs fall open and he gazed up dreamily at Sherlock, stroking his hand through his curls. "That dildo is nice, but real cock is so much nicer."

“You’re such a softie.” Sherlock chuckles softly and kisses Adam as he stretches him.

"Can't help it," Adam murmured against his lips. "Natural romantic."

Sherlock chuckles and deepens the kiss, soon rocking three fingers in and out of him.

"Oh, rowr!! Your knuckles are big," Adam laughed, his arms around Sherlock's neck.

“All the better to stretch you with.” Sherlock laughs, rubbing his prostate.

Adam laughed warmly, but then his voice trailed into a whine. "Oh, fuck... Shazza, I can take it... C'mon, push it in... I want to feel it swell..."

Sherlock eases his fingers out and slicks his cock before pushing in.

Adam groaned from the pit of his stomach, his head thrown back. "OH, there is nothing like the feel of a real cock..."

Sherlock groans and nods, his forehead pressed to Adam’s chest.

"Better than a fucking Fleshlight, too, am I right?'' he groaned, his voice raspy.

“Yes.” Sherlock pants, starting to thrust.

Adam groaned deeply and sunk his fingers into Sherlock's curls. "Deep,"he begged. "Please, deep and slow ..."

Sherlock holds onto him, going deep and rocking slow.

Adam have him little kisses all over his shoulders and his neck, and felt his curls get sweatier and sweatier. It was good, lazy, smouldering sex, and when Sherlock got tired, Adam rolled on top of him and rocked atop him at the same slow, wonderfully torturous pace.

“Fuck.” Sherlock moans, rocking with him.

Adam smiled and bore down on him hard. "Oh," he groaned. "I'm getting close... Fuck, Sherlock, fuck me from behind... Please..."

Sherlock nods and moves them, starting to fuck Adam from behind.

Adam put his own hand on his dick and after that, it didn't take long. He was coming, bearing down on Sherlock's dick inside him.

Sherlock groans and comes hard, shaking a bit before pulling out of Adam and striping off the condom.

Adam flopped down onto the bed with a groan, obviously quite happy. "Now cuddle me!" he commanded cheekily.

“Yeah yeah.” Sherlock chuckles and cleans them up before laying back down.

 

 

 

Below them on the street was a man who had been traveling for the past several hours and was now staring up at the windows of 221B. He wanted nothing more than to burst in and take the man he expected to be within into his arms and never let go again. But he was awash with fear at the thought of not receiving a positive reception. And that fear was strong enough to drive him back to the bolt hole Mycroft had provided for him upon his return.


	14. Chapter 14

Sherlock was in Carolyn’s kitchen baking a cake on John’s birthday. He had meant it as a joke when he told Mycroft he’d be making a cake but fate is a funny thing. Carolyn has told him that John’s favorite was devils food cake and that’s what he was making. He took the cake out of the oven and waited for it to cool before icing. “Is there anything else I can do?” He asks Carolyn.

Carolyn was perpetually rosy. Her delight at having Sherlock with her filled the room like spring potpourri. The cake made her practically giddy. "Oh, Sherlock, dear, it's so lovely! Shame it's only the two of us." Sherlock's phone dinged on his pocket and Carolyn waited politely for him to check it. "You can look at them, you know. Someone has been trying dearly to get ahold of you. They texted at least five times. Better answer them, dear."  
The truth was it was Adam, complaining about things around the flat, each one of them clearly nothing more than a desperate cry for attention.

“To be perfect honest, Carolyn, I’d rather not.” Sherlock sighs and turns his phone off. “I don’t really care to talk to the person trying to talk to me. He’s not exactly a good influence.”

"Oh?" Carolyn asked, deathly curious, but determined not to pry.

“He was supposed to be just a fling but it seems like he’s not going to be easily flung away.” Sherlock hums.

"Oh," Carolyn said. "Well, thats a good thing, isn't it? Seeing people? And certainly if he likes you so much, that must be nice? It... It would be good for you to move on, Sherlock. It's been over two years, after all."

“I know..” Sherlock sighs, mixing the icing. “It’s just no one is right. I’ve had my perfect match. Everyone else is second best if that.”

Carolyn sighed and helped him collect ingredients. "Still, you mustn't isolate yourself. You don't deserve to be alone."

“I know. I’m trying. I’ve started taking cases again.” Sherlock smiles softly.

"Have you, dear? Good for you! You're looking more colourful and hearty as well."

“Yes. Who knew ones appetite comes back when they stop using drugs.” Sherlock chuckles. 

"Oh, I'm so happy to hear that... And you've done it all on your own?"

“I’ve had a bit of help. From my fling.” Sherlock blushes a bit, feeling bad he didn’t answer Adam. “Would.. Would you mind if he came here?” He asks softly.

 

Carolyn slipped a moment when her face showed a moment's disappointment. She knew Sherlock saw it and it was immediately replaces with regret. "Of course, dear. Of course. I don't want you mourning my son forever. Yes, please, have him over. We're going to need help with this cake!"

Sherlock goes and hugs Carolyn close. “Next time.” He says softly. “Just us today.”

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, sad, leaning into his chest. "Over two years and I still haven't accepted it. There must be something wrong with me."

“He was your baby. You never have to accept it.” Sherlock holds her close. “I haven’t either and I don’t think I ever will.”

She pulled back and looked up at him. "Then you must invite him," she insisted with conviction. "You must invite him to remind us that we are in the present -- and that we are not alone."

Sherlock bites his lip. “Are you sure?”

"Yes. Please."

“Okay.” Sherlock pulls out his phone and turns it on, calling Adam.

Adam answered, fully petulant. "Shazzaaaaaa.... Why are you ignoring me?"

“I’ve been busy. Will you come to Johns birthday party? It’s just me and his mother at her place.” Sherlock asks softly.

"oh! Uh, yeah.... If you're sure...."

“Good. I’ll send you the address. See you soon.”

Adam appeared a half an hour later, having put on a nice shirt and pulled his hair back into a bun on his head.."Hey," he greeted Sherlock, peering fearfully for Carolyn. "I bought wine."

“Thank you.” Sherlock smiles and takes the bottle, letting Adam in.

Adam very shyly leaned in and kissed the corner of Sherlock's mouth. Carolyn took a deep breath to center herself, and then pressed his hand in hers. "I'm so glad you came, Adam. I'm glad we can finally speak."  
Adam nodded awkwardly, but said with slow sincerity, "I am so sorry for your loss, Mrs Watson... And deeply regretful for any harm i may have caused your son."

Sherlock opens the wine and pours it for the three of them.

"So... Sherlock just told me about you.. that you...." She was not of a generation that knew how to address these things nor took them lightly. "You're ... Seeing each other?"

Sherlock hands each of them a glass, interested to see how Adam would answer.

"Wh-- wu-- we, ummm...." Adam took his glass, a sweet blush blossoming on his cheeks. "You told her we were seeing each other?" He asked Sherlock softly.

“Casually. A few dates here and there.” Sherlock nods, sipping from his glass.

Adam went even pinker, all the way to his ears. He tried to hide it behind his wine glass.  
Carolyn smiled for him. "Well, I'm pleased you two... found each other."  
Adam compulsively stole glances at Sherlock as if he was seeing him in an entirely new way.

“Dinner is ready if you two are.” Sherlock smiles, going to strain the pasta.

Adam couldn't stop smiling. "How have you been, Mrs. Watson?" he asked, glowing.  
Carolyn was about to answer, but his obvious twitterpation made her burst out laughing. "What a dear heart you are! Sherlock, you didn't tell me he was so dear!"

“I’m sure he has to be to get me.” Sherlock chuckles and smiles, turning the pasta over in the sauce.

Carolyn reached out and patted Adam's blushing face. "I'm doing well, thank you for asking. And please, call me Carolyn."  
Adam nodded, and whispered, "Yes, ma'am."  
"Now he's 'ma'am'ing me, Sherlock."

Sherlock plates their dinner, sitting them at the table.

"He is succeeding!"

"Sherlock, did you cook?" Adam asked, impressed.

“I did.” Sherlock blushes tinged pink. “It’s just chemistry.” He shrugs.

"But you never cook at home!"  
Carolyn caught on to that little comment. "At home?" she looked at Sherlock.

“We never have food in. You never do the shopping.” Sherlock chuckles and downs the rest of his wine. “Adam stay with me from time to time. More so recently.”

Carolyn s eyes were huge. "Living together isn't casual, Sherlock!"

“I mean we don’t exactly. I don’t know. He just stays over more nights than not.” Sherlock blushes.

Carolyn looked at Adam for an explanation and the young man only shrugged. "I don't understand you young people in the least."

Sherlock chuckles softly. “Shall we eat then?”

They sat down and enjoyed the wine and food. When they finished the bottle of wine Adam brought, Carolyn rummaged in her cupboards for another one. Left alone for a few moments, Adam reached out and stroked Sherlock's wrist with his fingertips.

Sherlock looks at him and smiles softly, turning his hand palm up towards Adam. “Thank you for coming. I know this must be hard for you.” He says softly.

Adam enjoyed the sensation of sliding his palm over Sherlock's and tangling their fingers. "It's fine. I just wasn't sure she wouldn't still hate me."

“She’s very kind. And forgiving. And loving.” Sherlock smiles softly.

"She's great," Adam smiled, slightly tipsy and terribly sweet. Carolyn returned with the wine and smiled warmly at them, refilling their glasses .

Sherlock smiles, content and happy for the first time in a very very long time.

They ate and drank into the evening. Eventually, naturally, Adam.made his way to Sherlock's side and rested along the length of him, head on his shoulder, hands entangled.  
"Looks like someone's a bit sleepy," Carolyn nodded at Adam, who had been dozing. "Better get him home."

“Thank you for having us today.” Sherlock nods to Carolyn and nuzzles Adam gently to rouse him.

Adam jolted and blurted, "Thank you, Mrs Watson!"

Sherlock chuckles and stands, putting on his coat and grabbing Adam’s for him.

Carolyn got them both squared away with leftovers and made sure Adam's hat covered his ears. She kissed them both on the cheek and said, "Thank you for spending tonight with me, dears..."

“We’ll talk soon.” Sherlock kisses her cheek before leading Adam out.

Adam was drowsy and merry as they hit the night air. When Sherlock went to hail a cab, he pleaded softly, "Let's walk? It won't take too long. It's a nice night."

“Mm alright but if you start falling asleep again I’m getting a cab.” Sherlock chuckles softly.

Adam snorted as well. He was quiet for most of the walk, but when 221B was a few blocks away, he tangled his fingers in Sherlock's again. "Ah, so... I mean, I know it's not.. two blokes like us, the things we like, er.... I guess. I don't know what I'm trying to say. But maybe... Have you thought about it?" He was so entangled with his inability to express himself he failed to notice there was another late night walker on the pavement with them.

Sherlock hums, the wine making him a bit slow to notice things. “I..” He frowns when he hears the pattern of the footsteps, his heart nearly stopping.

Adam mistook his hesitation for an emotional chokehold and he took Sherlock's arm and pulled him to a stop. "Because I think we could do it, Shazza. I know two bottoms usually don't make a go of it, or, fuck I don't know, maybe they do, but I'd like to try. I can-- we can experiment. I can find a way to please you. I can give you what you need."  
Behind them, the street was empty and silent.

Sherlock looks down the dark empty street, controlling his breathing so he doesn’t hyper ventilate. He was starting to lose his mind, hearing things that weren’t there. “I.. Yeah. Yeah okay.” He nods, only half hearing Adam.

"Really?" Adam asked, his eyes going rabbit-wide.

Sherlock nods and swallows hard. “Really.”

Adam took hold of his head,sinking his fingers into Sherlock's curls and kissed him adoringly.  
That strange footfall of a not-quite limp picked up again, but in the other direction.

Sherlock kisses Adam back, not pulling back in time to see where the footsteps were going.

Adam followed Sherlock's gaze to where a short man in a leather jacket was making his way away from them in the fog. "Letch. Was he watching us, you think?"

“Yeah..” Sherlock frowns. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” He starts to follow the man.

John was texting Mycroft, cursing him for his lack of intel, for sending him in blind, for not mentioning that Sherlock had a bloody boyfriend. His texts all went unanswered. He was heading for the tube station, utterly at a loss for how to proceed.

“I swear to God, John Watson, if you take one more step from me I’ll kill you myself.” Sherlock snaps as he stands at the top of the stairs, looking down at the man at the bottom. He wasn’t sure when he heard the footsteps because the limp distorted it. But as he followed the man he knew that body. He’d had that body next to him, under him, over him. He knew it as well as his own. The hair was short, nearly buzzed cut, and it was more gray than two years before but it was John’s hair all the same.

John stopped immediately on the landing. But he didn't turn around.

“So it is you..” Sherlock says, absolutely numb.

John felt like an idiot. He shouldn't have stopped, but heading that voice had stopped him cold. He was at once filled with a yearning so intense, it sucked the air from his lungs and he could only croak, "Sherlock..."

“You.. You bastard. You absolute rat bastard son of a bitch. Actually I take that one back. Your mother is lovely.” Sherlock says, not realizing he’s sobbing.

Slowly, John turned. Sherlock was backlit by the streetlights, but John remembered his shape perfectly. "I'm so... Sorry," he said, robotically, knowing now that he should have never come back at Mycrofts summons, should have let Sherlock heal and move on.

Sherlock is moving down the stairs before he knows it, tackling John but going limp as soon as he touches him. “Oh god! You’re real!” He starts to tremble.

John instinctively crushed him on his arms and the two and a half years apart accordioned to just an excruciating moment. "Sherlock," John gasped, the smell and the feeling of him a paradise.

“You’re real. You’re real. Oh god.” Sherlock says over and over again.

"Sherlock," John rasped, also caught up in helpless repetition. "Sherlock, my Sherlock, my Sherlock."

Sherlock holds onto John, his fingers digging into his coat. “I saw you. All the time. You were everywhere and I couldn’t touch you.”

"I'm here now, darling. I have you."

Sherlock shakes hard.

John stroked over his back firmly, feeling his breath shudder and break. "I'm sorry, my darling. My love. My God, I missed you." He pressed his nose into Sherlock's neck, greedy for the smell of him. "I missed you so much..."

“Missed you..” Sherlock slurs a bit.

John pulled back and took hold of his face to look at him. "I will tell you everything, love, of I can, but not here..."  
From the top of the stairs, a voice echoed down, "Shazza? Everything ok?"

Sherlock nods. “Go..” he says softly, hating it.

John looked up the stairs, then back at Sherlock. "I'm not leaving you again "

“It’s Adam..” Sherlock whispers.

"What?" John looked at him, shocked and confused. Then Adam appeared. They both stared at each other for a solid ten seconds.

Sherlock is petrified, the in coming train breaking the silence.

They both burst out with questions at once, Adam demanding to know of Sherlock knew and how such a thing was possible, while John barked, "He's your lover? You've taken Adam bloody Walker as your lover?"

Sherlock just blinks at the two of them. He turns and goes to the train, the doors closing before either of them could follow him. He watches them yelling at him as the train pulls away.

Sherlock just blinks at the two of them. He turns and grabs Adam’s wrist before getting on the train, the doors closing before John could follow them with his limp. He watches John yelling at him as the train pulls away.

Adam's mouth was agape as the train took off. "Sherlock, what's going on?"

“I.. I don’t know..”

"What do you mean you don't know! You're Sherlock! Why did you rush us away? We have to go back!"

“Well I’m not completely sure I’m having a psychotic break!”

Adam knelt down in front of where Sherlock was sitting and took his hands. "You're not. Shazza, I saw him, too. He was there."

“Fuck.” Sherlock sighs.

"What? What? Sherlock, let's go back!"

“I need to see my brother.”

"Why?"

“Because he must have known. He’ll have the answers I need.”

"Ok," As said gently, but was tangibly itching to return to where they had left John.

“You can go back to him if you want. I.. I don’t think I can. Not yet.”

Adam sighed. He flung himself in the seat next to Sherlock and stroked his back. "I-- I'll stay with you..." They had had many long talks about Sherlock's desire to remain sober and Adam had been sincere when he promised to be Sherlock's accountability buddy in the affair. He had a feeling Sherlock was going to need help this evening.

Sherlock nods, rubbing his fingers through his hair.

Adam stayed with him, stroking his back and struggling to not yammer ceaselessly about the improbability of what they'd witnessed until they reached their stop. Then he trotted to keep up with Sherlock's punishing gait as they charged the Diogenes club.

Sherlock throws the door open, walking part all the workers who try and stop him. He nearly kicks in Mycroft’s door. “You knew!” He roars.

Mycroft gently shooed the security that was looking to haul Sherlock out. For his part, Adam had a hand on Sherlock s back as if it would do good to calm him.

"Sherlock, what do you mean? Who is this?" For all his intel, he'd never seen Adam before.

“JOHN IS ALIVE!” Sherlock snarls, close to foaming at the mouth.

"Ah," Mycroft sat back down while other members slink from the room. Adam closed the door behind him. "Do be so kind as to put yourself in the other side of that door, won't you?" Mycroft smiled at Adam.

“Adam stays. If anything he’s the only thing keeping me from murdering you with my bare fucking hands.” Sherlock growls, pacing like a caged animal.

Mycroft stared at the lanky young man, confounded as to how he had gone entirely undetected by his surveillance.  
"Sherlock, please calm down," Adam whispered gently.

Sherlock grabs a glass vase from the mantel and whips it at Mycroft’s head, missing by centimeters as it shatter on the wall behind Mycroft.

"Sherlock!" Adam lunged at the other man to hold him back from further chaos. "You have e to calm down!"

“You lied to me!” Sherlock screams at Mycroft. “You let me grieve! You like me use! Fuck you!”

"It was necessary," Mycroft said with no small amount of regret and fully expecting another vase launched at his head.

“IT WAS NOT!” Sherlock snaps.

"But you don't know anything, do you, little brother? How would you even know what was necessary and what wasn't? You were so pleased to have a lover who cared for you, you were willing to utterly forget that he had a life, too, which consisted of many, many enemies. Now, sit down or I won't speak to you."

Sherlock growls and sits with a huff.

Mycroft gave Adam one more curious glance before turning to Sherlock. "You forgot about the Chechnians."

“They were a non threat. What changed?” Sherlock frowns.

"They were always a threat, Sherlock, but you had dissolved into domestic fantasy and John enabled that! He was broken to bits by them only a matter of weeks before--" Mycroft sighed. "I always knew that falling on love would make you stupid."

“Fuck you.” Sherlock stands, his chair falling backwards. He leaves, slamming the door open.

 

 

Adam didn't know what to do. Sherlock was pale, shaking uncontrollably and he certainly didn't like this new development of throwing things. He tugged at Sherlock's coat to slow him down, feeling helpless. "Shazza... Sherlock, slow down, mate, slow down... Let's.. let's go back to Carolyn's, yeah? You feel safe there? We'll figure this out, I promise..."

Sherlock frowns but nods finally. “I don’t know what to say to her..”

"We don't... Look, you don't worry about that, ok? You're in shock... Come along." He called a cab and smuggled Sherlock inside, vigilantly peering out the window for any sign of a man in a leather jacket.

Sherlock sits with his head in his hands, shaking hard.

Adam stroked his back until they came to Carolyn's. He had texted her on the drive and she answered the door in her dressing gown. "Is everything alright?" she asked.  
Adam hurried Sherlock inside and tried to explain, "Yeah, yes, we just... Sherlock's had a bit of a fright... Can he lie down in your spare bedroom?"

Sherlock goes to the spare room, not waiting for her answer.

Adam immediately stared rifling through his pockets.

"What happened?" Carolyn asked.

"Um," Adam said, dumping things out onto the coffee table. "Sherlock thought he saw John."

He didn't mention he'd seen him as well. Despite everything, his brain still couldn't reconcile it. And who was Sherlock's brother...?  
"Oh, no..." Carolyn shook her head. "He's more far gone than I thought."  
Adam surveyed his resource. He had cocaine, which was definitely a no-no. He had acetaminophen which wasn't helpful. And he had a small bag of weed that was more ball sweat than anything.  
"Um, Mrs. Watson? Do you have a pipe?"  
Adam snuck into Sherlock's room a few minutes later. "Shazza? You ok?"

“No but it’s not anything a few hundred grams of coke couldn’t fix.” Sherlock mumbles, his hair fisted in his hands.

"Um. Well, I have something for you that might help." He sat on the side of the bed. "Sit up and I'll light it for you."

Sherlock sighs and sits up.

Adam carefully scooted in behind him. "I'm gonna start this off for you, ok?" He put the pipe in his mouth and got the embers glowing. "Take a big a hit, ok? It's indica. It'll help..." He stroked Sherlock's back comfortingly.

Sherlock nods and takes the pipe, taking a big long drag.

Adam took the pipe from him and placed it on the bedside table. Then he wrapped his arms around Sherlock, pulling him back against his chest. "You mean so much to me," he whispered into his ear. "Please hang in there."

Sherlock just presses his head to Adam’s chest.

Adam kissed his curls and held him securely. In the calm quiet, it really hit him that John was alive and he hadn't driven a man to suicide and he started to cry.

Sherlock wraps his arms around Adam. “It was never your fault..” he whispers.

It only made Adam cry harder. He clutched Sherlock to him like a child would a stuffed toy. "We have to find him. If he's alive, he has to know I'm sorry."

Sherlock nods, holding onto Adam tight.

Adam rocked him and whispered, uncertain if Sherlock was ready to hear it, "Sherlock, your love is still alive..."

Sherlock lets out a wet sob.

"Sorry, I---" Adam nuzzled him. "I thought it would make you happy..."

“I don’t know what to do..”

"What do you want? What are you afraid of?" Adam asked, voicing the two questions he asked himself every time he felt cornered.

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.” Sherlock mumbles.

"Shhhh," Adam rocked him. "Slow down and focus. I'll work through it with you, but you have to try."

Sherlock sighs. “I’m mad. I’m so mad.”

"Mad? Why?"

“Because they all lied to me.”

"We... We don't know what happened, Sherlock..." They had left before John or Mycroft could illuminate them.

“They lead us to believe John was dead. He is not in fact dead. There for it was a lie. We were lied to. They lied to us.”

Adam didn't want to make Sherlock angrier, so he stayed quiet and stroked his hair, waiting for the weed to kick in. When it did, he mumbled, "But don't you miss him?"

“Every second.” Sherlock murmurs, starting to feel it.

Adam squeezed him. He didn't want to lose Sherlock now that he was so close to having him. A horrible swell of jealousy arose in him and he white knuckled Sherlock's coat.

Sherlock didn’t notice, enjoying the haze taking him over.

Adam carefully disentangled himself and took another hit off the pipe, a bit bigger this time. Then he tucked himselfndown under Sherlock as best he could and floated off to sleep.

Sherlock relaxes slowly, finishing off the pipe.

"It's me! It's me! Mrs. Hudson, it's me, John Watson," John sputtered to forestall any thrown objects.

“John?” Mrs. Hudson stills, in shock.

The next morning, John broke into Sherlocks flat. He had gone to Mycroft the night before and railed at him for not mentioning Sherlock was kissing the man who ruined his life. Mycroft was contrite and set to work immediately to determine why there was such a blind spot.  
John searched 221B. Evidence of Adam was everywhere, likewise was evidence of drugs, of depression, and an empty fridge. The place was filthy, but the experiments looked long untouched. The windows smoked with dust when John opened them.

“Oh Jesus!” Mrs. Hudson gasps as she sees someone in Sherlock’s flat.

"Hello," John said apprehensively.

“You’re supposed to be dead!”

"I know. I'm sorry. I'm not. I faked it."

“Why?”

"To save Sherlock," John said, surprised to hear his own voice failing him.

“I think we both have a lot to say to each other. Please come down to mine. I’ll make us some tea and we can talk.” Mrs. Hudson holds her hand out to go.

John hesitated. He didn't want to leave the flat. It was as close as he'd been to Sherlock in so long. He physically couldn't lift his feet. "I'll stay up here, thanks -- if you want to bring something up..."

“I’ll be back in a moment.” Mrs. Hudson nods and leaves him.

John found himself wandering down the hall to Sherlock's room as he waited. He stepped inside cautiously, even though he knew no one was in. He felt that he was violating a sacred space.  
The room as just as messy as they'd left it. There weren't many signs of Adam in here, but John did see one of his old jumpers tangled up in the bed sheets

Various pieces of Johns clothes were tucked away around the room.

John wanted to step further in and explore, but it didn't feel right -- Sherlock wasn't his anymore. He stepped back into the kitchen and waited for Mrs Hudson

Mrs. Hudson soon comes up with a tea tray, setting it on the table.

John sat down across from her and watched her pour the tea. "I missed you," he smiled mildly.

“I missed you, too, dear.” Mrs. Hudson smiles softly. “But don’t be deceived by the tea. I’m sorry very cross with you. I hope you have a sufficient explanation as to all this cloak and dagger.”

"I'm an assassin," John told her, knowing no better explanation could be had. He gratefully accepted his tea, finding great comfort in its familiarity.

“I know that, John. I’ve been around.” Mrs. Hudson sips her tea.

John blinked at her. There was no way she could have known, from their interactions-- And yet, he believed her. If there was one thing John was coming to understand about himself it was that he was far more transparent than he'd like to believe.  
He set his tea down and watched it until the ripples stilled. "I will tell you whatever you feel is your due. But I am asking -- asking, mind, you don't owe me anything -- I am asking you to tell me about Sherlock." The story that hung about the flat was a dreadful one.

Mrs. Hudson nods and tells John everything that happened since he had ‘died’.

"How did he meet Adam?" John interrupted.

“At your wake. Adam showed up and Sherlock talked to him.”

John swallowed several times. "And they're together?"

“From what I can gather. Adam sleeps here, eats here, shoots up here. They never call each other boyfriends or anything. But they’re usually together.”

John sighed hard. "How long?" He couldn't imagine this boded well for him. Adam surely instilled a hatred of John in Sherlock. He could imagine them staying up late, deriding him.

“A few months after they met.”

John crossed his arms high and snug over his chest. "So, two years.... They've been together for two years...' that was longer than he had been with Sherlock.

“Give it take.” Mrs. Hudson nods.

John closed his eyes against the pain. He had spent every day of the past two years striding forward toward the image of being reunited with Sherlock again, like a donkey after a carrot on a string. "He ran away from me. He saw me, he hugged me, and then he ran away. From me. He ran away from me."

“John, I nearly shot you.” Mrs. Hudson takes a small gun from her pocket, he husband had given it to her when things were rough, sitting it on the table. “He’s in shock. He thought you were dead. He..” She frowns. “He had visions of seeing you. When he was out. He’d see you in crowds of people and chase your ghost all day. He used so he didn’t have to feel disappointed when you weren’t there at the end of the chase. You were dead to him for two years and now you’re back. All of the sudden. After you jumped he disappeared for days. Not even Mycroft could find him. When he finally found Sherlock he was knee deep in a crack den.”

The grimace that flashed across John's face was brief but deep. He let out a horrible sound, like a felled buffalo. "What do I do? Tell me what to do, Mrs. Hudson. What do I do?"

“Give him time. And be present. Even if he runs. No matter how many times he runs. Just be here.” Mrs. Hudson takes his hand gently. “Be patient and if after everything he can’t accept it, let him go.”

John swallowed. He didn't like that advice. He didn't want to "be here" if he had to watch Sherlock be with Adam. Or Adam be with Sherlock. Either of them being not with him. But he cleared his throat and nodded, "I'll do that," as if Mrs. Hudson were the judge passing him his sentence.

Mrs. Hudson nods. “I’m here for you, dear. Always.”

John squeezed her hand and was about to reply, when the door opened and Sherlock and Adam came tumbling inside. Adam was prattling on, something about dog breeds, but fell dead silent when he saw who was sitting at the table.

Sherlock looks at John then to Mrs. Hudson then to their hands.

Adam reached out and took hold of Sherlock by the hips. He didn't know what the man would so, but if he was going g to fall over or lunge, Adam wanted to have a say in it. "Um. Hello, Mrs Hudson. John," he said, carefully.

John released Mrs Hudson s hand and slowly rose to his feet. "Hello, Adam. Hello, Sherlock."

“Adam, can you please take Mrs. Hudson down? The light is out over the stairs and I don’t want her falling.” Sherlock says softly.

Adam wanted to stay -- he was bursting with the desire to talk to John himself about his own concerns, but Sherlock certainly deserved deference. "Right. Yeah. Let's go eat some cookies in your place, Mrs. H."  
They left with little fanfare and John stood ramrod straight next to the window, unmoving.

Sherlock watches John. “You got shot.”

John nodded. "Couple times."

“Finally got shot in the leg this time.” Sherlock looks at the cane.

John gave a weak smile. He wanted to tackle Sherlock to the floor, but he was afraid even shifting would make the man run again. He was so beautiful, if cause all the organs of John's body to ache. "Will you... Come in?" He didn't like Sherlock standing by the door.

Sherlock nods and closes the door behind him. “One moment.” He goes around the room, pulling out hidden cameras and microphones.

John watched him. "Some good Mycroft's surveillance did, him?" He asked sarcastically.

“Apparently who ever was watching wasn’t reporting. I’m sure Mycroft will have them skinned.” Sherlock sighs.

"So, you've talked to him then? Your brother?"

“More like screamed at him. And threw a glass vase at his head.”

"Did he tell you everything?"

“He didn’t tell me much of anything. I didn’t want to hear it..”

"Sherlock, stop," John said, taking his arm to stop his rummaging for surveillance devices where there clearly were none.

Sherlock’s arm goes limp in Johns hand.

John pulled him toward him and stroked his face, trying to get him to look at him.

Sherlock’s eyes close, his breathing is deep.

Unable to resist, John stroked his thumb across Sherlock's incredible mouth. "My God, I will never get over how beautiful you are."

“You got over it long enough to leave me for two years.” Sherlock steps back.

"Only to save you," John said in all earnestness. "Only to keep you safe, do you understand that?"

“No. No i do not!” Sherlock snaps. “You left me without warning! You jumped in front of me! You made me watch!”

"I didn't mean to, you weren't supposed to be there, I, my God, Sherlock, I'm so sorry. I didn't want you to be part of it like you were..."

“But I would have known! You were going to jump and I would have found out either way!”

"I know, but you wouldn't have seen it. I'm so sorry, darling. I wish... If I could do it over again, I would do it differently... I would do it all differently..."

“But don’t you see! You still would have left me! That is the problem!”

"Not because I wanted to. I never wanted to leave you, ever. You were my everything. You still are. I just had to ensure... I had to ensure nothing would ever hurt you..."

“YOU HURT ME THE MOST!”

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'm so sorry."

Sherlock rubs his hands over his face.

John felt dizzy, helpless. "I'm sorry. I'm s---" He fell silent, not knowing how to repair this. He still had hold of Sherlocks arm and was bearing down.

“Sit down before you faint.” Sherlock says softly.

John shook his head. "I love you, Sherlock. I always have. I probably always will. I fucked up. I know that. I knew it at the time, but I didn't know what else to do. I know that's no excuse. I just, I-- I--" he fell silent.

“I don’t know either..” Sherlock frowns.

"So. You're with Adam, then." He gave an ugly chortle. "Bloody Adam Walker."

“I really don’t think you’re in any position whatsoever to be making judgements.” Sherlock snarls.

"I'm not. I'm not judging you. Sherlock, I want you to be happy." The truth of it was surprising even to himself.

Sherlock frowns. “Like hell.”

"I'd prove it to you in any way you'd let me."

“I..” Sherlock looks away.

John waited.

“What do you want me to say? Everything is fine now? You can come back? Everything’s forgiven?”

"No, I--" but really, he did. That was what John had been expecting: he would return, Sherlock would throw himself on his neck and shower him with kisses, and they would live happily ever after. He was not expecting this, but now he felt foolish and romantic. He finally let go of Sherlock's arm. "Shall I leave you, then?"

“I... I don’t know.” Sherlock tears up, still not looking at John.

John didn't know what to do. He never wanted to leave Sherlock's side again, but he did want him happy. His heart ached. "I suppose Adam told you some... horrible things about me."

“He wanted you but he was afraid.” Sherlock mumbles. “And he was so grief stricken when he thought he was the reason you killed yourself.”

John stared a moment, agog. "That's... Unexpected."

“He didn’t want to take it further but the other man. He heard about it and it was to late.”

John pursed his lips and nodded. It made sense. "Would you mind if I talked to him?"

“You can do what you want. Obviously.”

John nodded. He couldn't do what he wanted. What he wanted was to throw Sherlock over his shoulder, take him to the bedroom and mate him for days on end. "Right. Then I'll... I'll just..." With great force of will, he passed Sherlock into the hall and opened the door.  
Standing in the landing was Adam. He looked awkward and guilty. "Uh. Hi," he said.  
"Hi," John replied.

Sherlock takes a deep breath, trying not to pass out. This was getting to much for him. “I think I’ll go check on Mrs. Hudson. I’m sure you gave her quite the fright.” He goes down stairs.

John and Adam we're both disappointed to see Sherlock run away again.

Sherlock sighs and sits at Mrs. Hudson’s table. “I hope John didn’t scare you to much.”

"Of course not, dear. Did you send him on his way?"

Sherlock shakes his head. “He’s upstairs talking to Adam..”

"That's nice of you to give them space. It's good that you're so trusting. Poor Adam was in a bit of a state."

“What?” Sherlock frowns. “What do you mean?”

"Well, of course he's a bit insecure, Sherlock. The love of your life has returned. He as to wonder what this means for him."

“I don’t know what any of this means.”

Mrs Hudson sat down across from him and put a hand on his wrist. "Consider, dear, that it might be alright if you felt a little happy. Maybe just a little."

“I want to. I do.. I just don’t think I deserve it anymore.. I don’t think I ever did..”

"Mercy, Sherlock! If your love coming back from the dead isn't enough to convince you, nothing will! You must stop this devotion to your sorrows! You have what half the world over would kill for -- a second chance!"

“But what if he leaves me again.”

"He came back from the dead for you," she sighed and pulled away. "It's really not for me to say, my dear. But when you get to be my age, you realize doubt and fear are cruel playthings."

Sherlock frowns but nods. “Thank you Mrs. Hudson.”

Above them, the door opened and there were footsteps on the stairs. "You're going to let him go?" Mrs Hudson asked.

“I..” Sherlock frowns and goes up, going to the door.

John looked up from where he was pulling his coat on and gave a thin smile.

“Leaving?” Sherlock asks.

"I thought it would, yeah," John said quietly. "Unless you want me to stay."

Sherlock bites his lip. “Meet me at Speedy’s Saturday morning. You’ll explain. Everything. Properly.”

John tugged his coat into place and  
zipped it. "9 am?"

“9am.” Sherlock nods.

John nodded and gave him a soft goodnight before leaving without ceremony. Back in the flat, Adam was curled on the sofa, teary.

Sherlock goes up and looks at Adam. “What happened?” He asks softly.

Adam sat up swiftly and wiped at his face. "Nothing! Nothing! I just... Shit doesn't roll off my back like it used to, you know?"

“Tell me exactly what happened. Everything. I need to know.” Sherlock asks. “Please..”

Adam shook his head. His bottom lip quivered. "It's... Kind of personal, you know?"

Sherlock sighs. “Alright.” He goes to the kitchen.

Adam followed him. "Um. Do you want me to stay tonight? Or do you want to be alone?"

“It’s up to you. I’m sure you’d like to go get high after that.” Sherlock shrugs.

"Only if you'd join me," Adam said carefully. "Otherwise, I'd rather just be with you..."

“How about joining me for a bath instead?” Sherlock hums.

Adam smiled. He took Sherlock's hands and pulled him in for a sweet, adoring kiss. "I'd love that."

Sherlock kisses him back softly and leads Adam to the bathroom.

Adam wiggled out of his clothes while Sherlock prepared the tub. "John said... You weren't going to leave me for him."

“As if he has the right to say anything about anyone leaving.” Sherlock sighs, filling the bath.

Adam didn't follow that line of reasoning, but he knew Sherlock was upset. "Well, I asked him."

“It wouldn’t be fair. If I left you.” Sherlock pours some bubble bath into the water.

Naked, Adam started pulling Sherlock's clothes off. "I don't know if it works like that," he murmured. "Love isn't about being fair."

“What would you do? If you were me?” Sherlock asks, letting Adam strip him.

Adam kissed his shoulders as he thought. "Um. I would .... I would make sure my friend Adam was beside me no matter what," he said impishly.

Sherlock leans in and kisses Adam. “I’d never cast you to the side. I couldn’t.”

Adam kissed him back passionately. "That's very good to hear."

Sherlock hums and holds Adam close as they kiss.

Adam stroked his hair and smiled, nuzzling him. "You're my... I don't know what I'd do if I post you," he whispered. "But I know what you feel for him... I know how much you love him."

“I do.” Sherlock nods. “I don’t know what to do.”

Adam kissed his head and pulled him carefully into the tub. "You don't have to figure it out tonight." He settled into the v of Sherlock's legs. "I, for one, am seriously relieved."

“How so?” Sherlock asks, rubbing soapy hands over Adam’s body.

"I got to tell him how sorry I was. I got to ask him questions, clarify things... He forgave me."

“I’m happy for you.”

Adam kissed his throat. "Don't worry Sherlock. We'll figure something out. He adores you. I can see it. We'll figure out an arrangement of some sort, even if it's... Unusual."

Sherlock sighs and nods, tipping his head back.

Adam was expecting ba sort of response to the strange proposal he'd just made, but it looked like he wasn't going to get one.

“I’m mad at John. I don’t think I should make any major decisions while feeling this way..”

"Yeah," Adam stroked Sherlock's face. "But it's... It's all over, yeah?" He fetched a flannel and started to gently soap Sherlock's body. "I mean... The loss, the grieving. Sherlock, I know there were nights where you couldn't sleep because you were thinking about... About why he'd done it. I was thinking the same thing. And now we don't have to. We don't have to blame ourselves or wonder. I feel like we're in control of our lives again. Like I've woken up from a bad dream."

Sherlock nods. “What if I don’t know how to wake up?” He whispers.

Adam put his hand on Sherlock's cheek, but far more firmly than gently. "If you haven't woken up, it's because you haven't faced it. You ran twice,"Adam said pointedly. "You have to stand your ground when it comes to nightmares, Sherlock. Look them in the face." His eyes softened as soon as he finished speaking. And he whispered, "But you don't have to do it alone. You're safer than you think."

Sherlock nods, trying not to tear up.

Adam kissed him again. "You're so dumb," he giggled. "How can you not know how loveable you are?"

“I am. I’m so dumb.” Sherlock laughs, tears in his eyes as he kisses him back.

Adam relaxed his body into Sherlock's and kissed him endlessly, muttering over and over, "You're going to be ok. You're going to be ok."

Sherlock holds onto Adam, kissing him deeply.

Adam soon left off soaping Sherlock. He pressed tight against him and made soft little sounds, slowly gliding his swelling cock against the man beneath him.

Sherlock licks and sucks at Adam’s neck.

With his large hand, Adam fists them both together, purring happily at Sherlock's attentions.

“Oh Adam.” Sherlock moans and kisses him hard, holding him close.

"Have you ever had a threesome before?" Adam gasped, eyes closed.

“Not that I can remember.” Sherlock nips at Adam’s lips.

"Have you thought about it?"

Sherlock blushes a bit. “Once or twice.”

Adam gave him a smutty kiss and stroked them Noth harder. "What do you think about?"

“It’s.. Exciting.” Sherlock blushes.

"So tell me."

“I just.. being in the middle..”

Adam let.out a soft whimper. "I think about that, too," he panted, feeling himself about to burst.

“Tell me. Tell me what you want.”

"Maybe being with you... Together and holding each other like this... And John behind, taking turns with us..."

“Oh yes..” Sherlock groans.

"Sherlock," Adam panted into his mouth. "Love you," he gasped and he came, hips bucking.

Sherlock groans as he comes.

Adam kissed him through it and stroked him as he came down. "Darling," he gasped.

Sherlock holds him close and kisses him deeply.

Adam resumed his work with the soaping of both of them, stealing kisses when he could.


	15. The end

Friday soon rolls around and Sherlock stands outside of Speedy’s.

John was already within. He'd arrived an hour early, being too anxious and having no idea what to even do with himself. He stared at his second cup of coffee, gathering his thoughts.

Sherlock takes a deep breath and goes in, sitting across from John.

John leaned away from the table when Sherlock sat down. "Hello," he said, offering a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

“Hi..” Sherlock says softly, sipping his own coffee.

John ran his eyes over the other man, wishing he had Sherlock's powers of deduction. As it was, all he could tell was that Sherlock had showered that morning. "You look wonderful."

“Thank you.” Sherlock blushes.

John gave him a tight smile.

“You don’t.. You don’t have to be nervous. I’m not going to run again.” Sherlock says softly.

"Good. That's... good." John didn't know what to say. He didn't know what Sherlock wanted out of this conversation or if John was capable of giving it.

“I just.. I want to hear what happened from you. And then.. I’ll tell you what happened to me.” Sherlock holds onto his cup to keep his hands from shaking.

John nodded. He stared at Sherlock's hands for a few moments to fortify himself. Then he started, "When I was discharged from the army, I presumed my life was over... So I didn't kind throwing it away..." He told Sherlock everything from the very beginning. He wanted Sherlock to understand how deep this problem went and how tightly it was knotted into his life. He laid out the series of events in a linear, unembellished manner and told Sherlock to hold his questions until the end. He struggled to keep his emotions in check as soon as Sherlock entered the story and he plowed through his regret like a determined rhino through an underbrush. When it came to his time away from Sherlock, he was no less succinct, but he edited nothing. He was graphic but factual about the torture, about the murders. He provided dates and times. He included Mary and the things he'd confessed to her. He plainly stated the two suicidal moments he had when he was convinced he wasn't making it back. He gave an itemized list of injuries, from the physical to the mental/emotional and Sherlock could plainly see John hadnt slept since his return. He shared how it was suggested that Sherlock knew John was alive and the effect it had on him.  
"I think," he said, his voice having grown soft and quiet from so much use, "that's it. That's everything. I'm not well; I never was. Any questions?"

Sherlock is quite for a long time.

John waited, sipping his coffee.

“Do you love me?” Sherlock asks, simply.

"Yes," John replied with equal frankness.

Sherlock nods. He starts to tell john his side of the story. Starting with right after John fell till that night he heard John’s footsteps. He tells John about his drug use, the multiple times he almost ODed and the times he did. He doesn’t gloss over his and Adam’s relationship, speaking honestly and clearly. “Questions?” He asks finally.

John was so full of questions, they jammed up for a moment. "Do you still solve crimes?" He had fallen madly in love with Sherlock, watching him solve crimes. He'd never seen anyone more alive.

Sherlock laughs softly. “Sometime. Greg hasn’t been speaking to me since I was using. He was quite angry in fact.”

John nodded. "So it's been a while?"

Sherlock nods.

"But you're... Getting clean?"

Sherlock nods again. “I haven’t used anything hard in a few months.”

"And you're in love with Adam." He still couldn't wrap his head around that.

Sherlock hums. “Looks like it.”

John released a hiss despite himself, as if he'd been stabbed. It was unbearable for him and the pain knotted him up into a silence.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen. It just.. Did.” Sherlock frowns and looks out the window.

"It's funny," John scoffed scornfully. "These two years I considered myself still engaged to you. Little did I know I could have been fucking my way across four continents. I could've fucked Mary, guilt free. God knows we wanted to."

“Well I’m sorry about that but my fianCÉ JUMPED OFF A FUCKING BUILDING IN FRONT OF MY EYES AND PRETENDED TO BE DEAD FOR TWO FUCKING YEARS.” Sherlock snarls. “So I’m sorry you couldn’t fuck your little adventure bunny.”

"And that was such a turn on for you, you had to fuck the first bloke you saw at my funeral, who just happened to be one of the men that destroyed my life?" John hissed back.

Sherlock stands. “That you for finally showing me what I needed to see. I hope you and Mary have a wonderful life together.” He says and walks out.

"I thought you said you wouldn't run," John snarled, feeling like this was something they needed to have out.

“This isn’t running. This is being done. Im done with you lying to me. Im done with you leaving me. Im done with you abusing me. Im done. This is what done looks like.” Sherlock shakes his head.

John sighed, releasing his anger and almost feeling the desire to laugh. "This is what two people who loved each other look like, Sherlock. They fight. And if you leave, we stay fighting for the rest of our lives. If you stay, you work through it. And you grow up."

“Jesus, John! I was lied to by every close person in my life! That’s not something that I have to work on! I didn’t do anything wrong! If anyone has work to do its you! You have so fucking much to make up to me! Fuck you for even saying that to me. You don’t know how much I’ve have to “grow up” since you fucked off and left me.” Sherlock tears up. “This isn’t love. This is an unhealthy attachment. And it’s going to kill me.”

John watched him, tapping his fingers along his coat. "Ok," he said.

“I can’t have you in my life unless you change. And you don’t change so I can’t count on that. I can’t count on anyone. You’ve shown me that very clearly. So thank you, John. For teaching me that I’m completely alone.” Sherlock nods and walks out of the coffee shop.

John had taken to staring out the window in his little flat at the shuttered blinds of the building opposite. When he'd rolled out of Mary's bed in the small hours of the morning with excuses of things to do, staring out of that little window was what he had in mind. He taken part time work stocking the local HMV at night, as he waited for life to reveal its purpose in keeping him around.  
Mycroft called often, but once John had gleaned that he was trying to recruit him to MI6, John had stopped answering his calls

“You should get in the habit of answering the phone when I call.” Mycroft hums as he leans against the building John comes out of.

"Oh Jesus Christ!" John yelled leaping nearly out of his skin. He had gotten out of his job at 3 am and no one else was on the street. "Thought you were a bloody vampire!" He bypassed Mycroft and marched on. "More right than wrong, anyway."

“If you had answered,” Mycroft continues, ignoring what John said “You’d know that Sherlock is missing.”

John's pace slowed. "What does that have to do with me?"

“Just thought you’d like to know.” Mycroft shrugs and start to walk to his waiting car. “He disappeared after seeing you at Speedy’s..”

John frowned. "That was a week ago."

“I thought he was held up in some crack den. Searched all his regular haunts. And the irregular ones. He’s gone. Quite frankly I don’t even know if he’s in the country.” Mycroft sighs.

"How did you lose your bloody brother?! You have-- you're in charge of the--" he pointed aggressively at the CCTV cameras, too confounded to name their proper nouns. "What is going on, Mycroft?"

“I don’t know but he’s gone. We have footage of him going into Baker Street but he never comes out. Adam called me four days ago saying he hadn’t seen Sherlock in a few days and he was getting worried.” Mycroft sighs.

John winced. He'd taken Sherlock's number out of his phone and had heard nothing from him. He just felt tired. "Well, what do you want, Mycroft? He hasn't come to me. He won't. He's too proud. And there's nothing I can do better than you could with all of your resources."

“Christ John, don’t you get what I’m saying? One of your enemies probably fucking kidnapped him!” Mycroft snaps.

"My enemies are dead. Maybe you don't recall, I killed myself and destroyed my relationship with your brother to wipe them out."

“Well there’s no other way he could have disappeared like that. And you didn’t just destroy it by doing that. A nice big part of it was you saying that you had the opportunity to fuck around on him while you were away but we’re such a nice guy ya didn’t. You were dead arsehole. What was he supposed to do? Morn you for the rest of his fucking like? You self important piece of shit.” Mycroft rolls his eyes. “Really good tidbit to tell him after he’s trying to accept you back into his fucking life. You know what Adam told me? That he and Sherlock were considering having you join their relationship. Because Sherlock wanted you back.” He opens his car door. “Never mind. I was mistaken about you, Watson. I should have killed you when I had the chance in that cabin all those years ago.”

John turned and walked away.


End file.
